


You Know Who I Am

by thegrumblingirl



Series: assassins don't take sides [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, god when was anything I wrote ever cc, resolving the slow burn, they're finally getting their shit together but ho boy do they have places to go and people to see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 92,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: The Outsider raised his hand. "One step in front of the other. I can help you."An ungainly snort escaped Corvo. “Help? Your help does not come cheap or for its own sake.”"Everything has a price, Corvo. Even love."“Not mine,” Corvo snarled. “And I have no use for yours.”A dying heart. A fight for life. The search for Daud.Sequel toWho By Fire.Here's the Spotify playlist for this story.ebook version available.





	1. Sneak Peek #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night had fallen and Corvo was back in his office — but not alone. Half a dozen Whalers were dotted around the room: on the settee, in the chairs by his desk, even on the floor by the hearth. They were helping him go through the research and arcane texts they had collected over the past few weeks, as well as Daud’s logs and Delilah’s collected journals and notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the second sneak peek. This is a scene for which I had the bare bones and dialogue written even before I finished _Who By Fire_. The idea hasn't left me alone since, so it's found its way into _You Know Who I Am_. (This scene will be part of Chapter 2.)
> 
> Some context: Corvo tries to keep it together, but he goes through phases of intense despondency, and still also tries to enter the Void as often as he can, looking for Daud on his own. That's what Thomas is referring to here.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Can't Pretend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TGn4RZy8Ic&index=38&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN). Goes as much for Thomas as it does for Corvo.

**Near the end of the Month of Ice**

Night had fallen and Corvo was back in his office — but not alone. Half a dozen Whalers were dotted around the room: on the settee, in the chairs by his desk, even on the floor by the hearth. They were helping him go through the research and arcane texts they had collected over the past few weeks, as well as Daud’s logs and Delilah’s collected journals and notes.

Corvo himself was reading one of the longer pieces Daud had written on the subject of the Outsider’s gifts, one he kept returning to without quite knowing why.

> **_Cobbled Bits of Bone_ **
> 
> _They say my mother was a witch, but the truth - as is so often the case - depends on perspective and your place in the world. She relied on poisons made from exotic herbs and the blowfish that live in the reef-waters near Pandyssia. Her power originated in hallucinogens delivered through guile or by force to those who crossed her. There was an unusual intensity in her gaze for certain, but it came from within, not from the Outsider. It's what happens to anyone pushed to the absolute edge of sanity and survival, who stays there for years then returns to walk among the sheep in so-called civilized society. My mother was crafty, but if it was anything more than powders, hidden knives, and guile, I never saw it._
> 
> _Like they tell children, some of those truly touched by the Black-eyed Bastard can move through the space between rooftops like a sparrow. Others command armies of rats or poisonous flies as easy as they wriggle their fingers and toes. The Overseers are right to fear us, to warn the common folk to stay near their homes at night and keep their families close._
> 
> _But there are other ways His influence manifests itself. Those who serve me share in some of what I can do, and I suspect it's the same for Delilah Copperspoon's coven. Then there are those who can craft runes and charms. The old woman across town - they call her Granny Rags - she carves and polishes the bones of whales, stringing them together and opening them to the Void until they moan like fever-sick on a cold night. I've found a few of her talismans, and with each one I touched, a tiny piece of me departed and settled in with her. What does she gain? A longer life? Some other kind of power I don't understand? The making of things is beyond me._
> 
> _I've known four people in my time who carried the Mark of the Outsider, but I've known dozens more who wanted it, who stood at night in stagnant ponds or begged with the dust blowing through graveyards. People who gutted farm animals or burned the flesh of men, thinking it would call forth the Void. I met a dying man once who had collected runes and charms for years. He crushed them all into powder, made a paste and ate them, thinking he could gain whatever magic was in the things. His death was long and painful. I also knew a woman from Karnaca who would trade for charms and other bits of whalebone. She cracked them apart and fused them back together, then sold them. I bought one of these corrupted charms that she swore would cause sharp metal to break on my skin, and it worked. But each time it did, one of my teeth turned black and fell out. After the third time, I gave it to one of my men. Now when he smiles, it's all bleeding gums, and I wonder what parts inside him are turning black._ _The way recent jobs have gone, I’d say he has three months, maybe four; if he doesn’t leave first in light of what I mean to do. I wouldn’t be surprised._
> 
> _Sometimes I ask myself, without these gifts, would I be a man to fear? Would I be called the Knife of Dunwall, with my name whispered through the markets and the alleyways, the high towers and drawing rooms? I'd like to think so, but it really doesn't matter. As long as I bear this Mark, I'll use whatever craft I have to force my will on the world. The harder trick is undoing what I've done._

Corvo knew that the reference to rats could not have been a nod to him, but to someone else, but it wasn’t why this excerpt captured his attention so. Certainly, it had been written before their first encounter, but after Daud had received the contract from Burrows. All the things those who’d sought the Mark had done — and what had they gained? Death, most of them. ‘I’ve known dozens more who died for wanting it,’ Daud had told him once when discussing their entangled powers, a sharper variation on what he’d written here, and undoubtedly the truth. Corvo remembered an errant remark made by the Outsider, too, about Sokolov. The Outsider preferred those who were _interesting_ , Corvo was not blind to that. But did he want for people to worship something He was not, or was He loathe all of the attention from those He had not chosen, and never would precisely for their pleading?

As the evening wore on, the Whalers excused themselves one by one, to return to their barracks in the bowels of the Tower, leaving their research and notes neatly stacked on Corvo’s desk. Thomas was the last to hide a yawn behind his hand and get up from the chair. He, too, arranged his notes so that Corvo might make some use of them, and stood. Corvo expected him to bid him goodnight and leave, but the young man hesitated.

"Isn’t it perhaps time to consider that there will be… no return?" he asked, surprising Corvo and yet… not. After all, it was a question Corvo refused to ask himself every day.

"No,” was his only answer. It always was.

"Corvo, it’s been months. You haven’t a single lead, we are no closer to finding a way to reverse or even recreate the ritual Delilah used… and you, you’re running yourself into the ground," he finished quietly.

Corvo stubbornly set his jaw. "We were… bonded, Daud and I. Our Marks, our powers, they were tangled up somehow. We were aware of each other’s abilities, and he even summoned me once to save me. He’s not gone, Thomas. I can feel it."

Thomas’ face twisted with pain and then, suddenly, he took off his left glove and held up his hand. "I feel something, too, Corvo. Nothing," he cried, his usually so calm expression slipping to reveal the grief that plagued him — him and, no doubt, all remaining Whalers. "We didn’t just tap into the Void by running with him, we felt _him_ , too. He was always there for us, saved us, and all he ever asked was loyalty. And now, the Void inside us is silent. We have to make our peace with that."

Thomas was breathing deeply, visibly drained by his outburst. He avoided Corvo’s eyes, put his glove back on instead. When he looked up again, his manner softened and Corvo’s heart ached all the more for what he knew the Whalers had lost.

“I’m sorry, Corvo. We all are. But you still have the Mark, and for us... this is how it ends." With a sigh, he turned to leave.

"What if I could give you back your powers?” Corvo asked, arresting Thomas in his tracks. He had not spoken of this to anyone, had barely dared to think it. There were things he’d found in Daud’s logs, mentions of more of Granny Rags’ recipes and records of a power she shared with someone who might have ended up working for Burrows — Morris Sullivan, a boy born mute, who’d been apprenticed by Vera Moray even before she’d lost herself in her pursuit of the Outsider and the Void. Hers seemed to have been limited to one recipient, but Daud’s, perhaps by the Void’s anticipation of his growing following, had formed to include as many Whalers as could take the Bond. The gifts of the Void were never the same to any two people.

"You what?" Thomas asked sharply.

"If I found the right ritual, if I could give you back the Void. Would you take the Bond?” Corvo persisted.

Thomas stepped closer, watching Corvo. "Where is this coming from? What did you find?"

“There was something in Granny Rags’ notes. It points to a specific rune composition. Daud makes mention of it, too, in his research, so there has to be some way of piecing it together."

"And why would you give us back the Void?"

Corvo found it difficult not to shift under Thomas’ bald stare. Daud had taught him well. "I know I can’t ever replace him, I can’t be what he was to you. But I can return your powers to you, and some new ones, if it takes. Not everything has to change. Those of you that want to stay — I will need your help keeping Emily safe. And you have my word: all I will ever ask is loyalty, but not to me. To her.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Augh Thomas. My poor Whaler boy.  
> b) So, the possibility is there... what do you lot think about Corvo getting Arcane Bond?  
> c) I think it's safe to say the motto of this fic is, 'It has to get all the way worse before it gets better.'  
> d) Sorry.  
> e) Not sorry.  
> f) http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Cobbled_Bits_of_Bone


	2. Final sneak peek: in-game lore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _[ Historical Record of Government Positions and Ranks - Addendum ]_
> 
>  
> 
> _Corvo Attano. Accused of assassinating the Empress he was sworn to protect. How unlikely he would not only overcome this shame, but then redeem himself so fully as to be named Royal Protector to yet another Empress! Those of us at the College of Histories were too fast to use pen against him!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so. This is the FINAL sneak peek before I'm finally publishing the first proper chapter. I spent the morning rewriting some in-game lore for the purposes of a) waking up properly and b) world-building. This basically serves as a refresher on how the "official" history of Jessamine's assassination goes in this AU.
> 
> And since I know that in-game lore can be a bit of a bore in fic, even if it's rewritten and/or added to, which I always try to do where possible and appropriate, I'm posting it separately here. (Excerpts will be featured in Chapter 4.)
> 
> I chose the historians' accounts of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin and The Royal Protector from the game, but combined it with the in-game fiction The Knife of Dunwall, even though there are other, if sensationalised, accounts of sightings of Daud as well as more or less factual reports by citizens or Overseers. I did it because I like the idea that while there's official history being written on Jess and Corvo, Daud remains a shadowy figure and anything written about him is as likely to be fiction as not; and because he's not part of the nobility, the College of History will never truly bother with him.
> 
> Another thing: these excerpts are presented here without framing commentary from our characters; but I think we all know that most of Gristol's historians are flagrant racist dickbags. So that's that.
> 
> Enough prattling — first chapter's coming December 29. Until then, have a wonderful time!

**_The Royal Protector_ **

_[Excerpt from a Historical Record of Government Positions and Ranks]_

_Throughout the ages, rulers have always faced attempts on their lives. Once in a generation the Empire is rocked by the death of a powerful political or religious figure. As such, city-states across the Isles have devised varying strategies for protecting their leaders._

_In the capital city of Dunwall, each new Emperor is allowed to appoint a Royal Protector. This is far more than a trusted bodyguard. Much more revered than the hand-chosen guards defending Dunwall Tower or the food tasters, the Royal Protector is a court figure, given enormous latitude, who keeps constant company with the highest ruler in the known world. At the age of twelve, the young monarch participates in the selection process, making the final decision about who will safeguard his or her life. While most of those chosen as Royal Protector have been men, several times throughout history, a woman has served well in the role._

_For the first time in Dunwall's history, a monarch has been_ _abducted and_ _slain by her own bodyguard. At the time of this writing, with Dunwall in the grip of the worst plague ever recorded, our fair Empress Jessamine Kaldwin has just been murdered. The deed was done by her former Royal Protector-turned assassin, Corvo Attano, who is still_ _at large in the city, hiding away in the shadows and cavorting with heretics, thieves, and murderers. It is almost certain that he has been assisted, if not guided, in this monstrous act by the assassin Daud, whose Whalers have terrorised Dunwall for more than a decade_ _. Some argue that it is worth noting that Corvo Attano is the first Royal Protector in the history of the Empire born outside of the Isle of Gristol._

 _[_ _Historical Record of Government Positions and Ranks - Addendum_ _]_

_Corvo Attano. Accused of assassinating the Empress he was sworn to protect. How unlikely he would not only overcome this shame, but then redeem himself so fully as to be named Royal Protector to yet another Empress! Those of us at the College of Histories were too fast to use pen against him!_

_Yet let us not blame historians, for the evidence against Attano was nearly overwhelming. First, he is the only Royal Protector ever to have been born of an Isle other than Gristol. His "foreignness" is not itself a crime, but added to the suspicions (the most forgiving of which was that he lacked the capacity to fully understand his duties). Second, he was caught quite red-handed,_ _running_ _with_ _the assassins hired to end the Empress’ life — whose identity has not been revealed to this day — rather than giving chase to her supposed capturers_ _. Of course, it turns out that this damning_ _“_ _evidence_ _”_ _was part of a clever plot to destroy the Empress and remove Attano from interfering with the ongoing plans of_ _Burrows’_ _conspirators!_ _The Empress died in the effort of saving her life, but it was not her Royal Protector who wielded the pistol._

 _And while I admit to publishing what are now clearly incorrect conclusions regarding Corvo Attano, I will not, as some_ _of_ _my colleagues have done, resign my position at our veritable organization. But instead, I reassert myself in the endeavor of weeding out fact from fiction to produce the most salient histories possible!_

* * *

 

**_Empress Jessamine Kaldwin_ **

_[Excerpt from a book on the late Empress]_

_Many of those who lived through her reign will weep until the ends of their lives over the pale beauty with the piercing eyes, and the foul end she met at the hands of her own twisted servant and protector_ _and the assassins who corrupted him_ _._

_In her father's day, the Kaldwins were thrust in the limelight despite their distance to the throne, when the former dynasty provided no heirs. A prosperous age followed the Emperor, but his daughter would have different luck. During her short life, political intrigue and minor conflicts created cracks in the Empire, undermining unity across the Isles._

_The Rat Plague, however, was a terror for which neither Empress Kaldwin nor any other living being was prepared._

_[Excerpt from a book on the late Empress]_

_Perhaps in retrospect other historians will see how easy it was for us to fall into the traps set by the schemers who managed the assassination of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. By allowing them to write history, it was for_ _nearly a year_ _thought that her trusted protector Corvo Attano was also her murderer. A concept we now know to be utterly false. Yet even after the tricksters themselves were put down, banished or imprisoned,_ _suspicion persisted regarding the Royal Protector, now serving dutifully as both Protector and Spymaster at the side of Jessamine Kaldwin’s daughter, Emily_ _._ _His young charge is expected to choose for him to remain in this position, as she soon turns twelve and thus reaches the age at which each new ruler is supposed to elect their own bodyguard. During those dark months when the truth remained hidden from us and the Empress, then Princess, herself was sheltered from those who would harm her by Attano and his allies, unknown but for a few names such as Curnow, Havelock, and Sokolov, it was proven that perhaps it needs not an army, but a few good men to decide the fate of an Empire._

 _How nicely the_ _likes of Burrows, Timsh, and Campbell worked to_ _arrange_ _history for us, and how readily we devoured their stories, hungry for each perfectly cooked morsel. But it is well past the time for us to set aside this plate of lies. The schemers were not to be trusted with the Empire, or with Jessamine's life, and they are certainly not to be trusted with the writing down of accurate histories!_

_[Excerpt from a book on the late Empress]_

_Of course biographies and histories of the life of our late Empress Jessamine Kaldwin are rife with speculation. The content of her relationship with her trusted protector, Corvo Attano, and the birth of her daughter Emily have excited historians of more or less dubious repute for years._ _The modern biographers ask the rude, irrelevant question of our age, as if the event of two bodies meshing together establishes the degree of love, forgetting […] how a hand held overlong or a gaze anchored in someone’s eyes could unseat a heart, and […] make the redolent air tremble and simmer with the heat of possibility. ([x](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54643/romantics))_ _Is it not enough that she died protecting the citizens of her Empire from the designs of a hateful man, that he worked to avenge her fate and restore her daughter to the throne? Whether Empress Emily is indeed their child is of no consequence, except perhaps that it might strengthen our faith in what such a man would be willing to give to prevent another catastrophe from befalling us._

* * *

 

**_The Knife of Dunwall_ **

_[Excerpt from a Penny Novel]_

_Chapter 3_

_Daud stared out at the river. The plan had gone miserably wrong — and there he’d been, at the start, thinking for a fleeting moment, ‘This is too easy.’ And perhaps it had been. But now it was over even as something else was just beginning, he felt hollow, and there was nothing in the world that could fill him again. He knew it with a certainty that scared him._

_Billie called from the next room. “Boss?”_

_“Not now.” He went over and closed the door on the way towards the desk before she could say anything else. He trusted her more than any of them, but he didn’t feel like talking. Not to her._

_Not to Attano._

_There was no blood to clean from his blade today, no marks to study as it seeped into the cloth he used. If he’d made a different decision, it’d have been royal blood, and it would have looked the same as any he’d seen before. The high and mighty were supposed to be filled with something different, something better, he’d once thought, but he’d killed enough of them to know that that wasn’t true._

_Jessamine Kaldwin was dead, but not by his hands, nor by his will. He had failed her._

_Daud was tired. No amount of blood could change that. It would not help to get drunk, rarely as he had enough to truly impair his faculties; nor did he seek solace in the arms of another. Sex with strangers had never interested him, and there was no-one in his life he cared for enough to ignite his ardour. He felt a kind of exhaustion that couldn’t be soothed away, not even by strong, calloused hands that he knew far too well after weeks of training together when time allowed. He almost smiled. The Knife of Dunwall, exhausted. And yet something else._

_He’d made a mistake, he’d been misled. That kind of thinking was useless. Faced with the choice, he’d seen himself for what he really was. Not a renowned assassin, not some great shaper of history. Just another playing piece in an unknowable game. And so, he’d done what no assassin ever should. He’d taken a side. He should have known better than to enter into such an arrangement — an arrangement that resulted in the death of one and the shame of another._

_He’d been with Jessamine Kaldwin the moment her life slipped away, as her death hollowed out the heart of the other man always by her side. Their Empress was gone, and so it fell to them to execute the remainder of their plan without her. Avenge one Empress, and raise another. Clear Corvo’s name and excise his own from history._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks go out to Gerzek, who I'm indebted to for this wonderful turn of phrase that made it into The Knife of Dunwall: "a relationship that results in the death of one and the shame of another" (http://archiveofourown.org/comments/118800513). It stuck in my head for all this time, and here it finally found a home. Thank you.
> 
> The underlined bit in Jessamine's excerpt is taken from Lisel Müller's poem "Romantics" on historians' worries about the nature of the friendship between Clara Schumann and Johannes Brahms. (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54643/romantics)
> 
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/The_Royal_Protector  
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Empress_Jessamine_Kaldwin_(book)  
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/The_Knife_of_Dunwall_(book)


	3. Sneak Peek #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It has been months since I recorded any of the events that have shaped my life since that night in late 1836. The night the Knife of Dunwall hauled himself through a Tower window to warn the Empress of the plot against her life._   
>  _Today is the 17th day of the Month of Earth, and tomorrow Emily and I will suffer through the first memorial to mark the anniversary of Jessamine’s death. Alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been drafting like mad while work has decided to kick it up a notch now that 2017 is on its last legs, and for some reason I ended up with more ideas than I knew what to do with.
> 
> I'm posting this now because it didn't really fit into the first chapter anymore but I wasn't going to scrap it, so I figured, why not post a sneak peek? Story proper will begin December 29!
> 
> xoxo

**Corvo Attano’s personal diary**

_Month of Earth, 1838_

_It has been months since I recorded any of the events that have shaped my life since that night in late 1836. The night the Knife of Dunwall hauled himself through a Tower window to warn the Empress of the plot against her life._

_Today is the 17 th day of the Month of Earth, and tomorrow Emily and I will suffer through the first memorial to mark the anniversary of Jessamine’s death. Alone._

_Even though I’d harboured no illusions that Daud would participate in the public ceremony, I suppose I’d always thought he would at least still be here with us when the time came. With me. I suppose I thought I might come back to my rooms and he would be waiting for me, reading reports or one of those awful novels the Whalers liked to saddle him with. Or perhaps I could have gone to see him at the Hound Pits, crawled into his bed and his arms._

_I am not selfishly seeking only my own comfort in these memories and fantasies. I miss him, even tonight, especially tonight, but I know, too, the guilt that tore at him, for it may as well have been my own. I wish I could have been there to lighten it._

_I suppose I’d thought we could tend to each other’s wounds; after a day of speeches and condolences and well-meaning pitiful glances for Emily, badly hidden contempt for me, and what would most likely have amounted to contemplative solitude for Daud._

_Even if he’d had plans to leave for the Isles the next day, his presence would have warded off the chill that is now gripping my heart._

_Still, I know it is nothing compared to the cold he cannot escape._

_If this is the first I write of this, then I must also record movements beyond my own._

_The Fugue Feast was quiet, even after the Courier heralded the arrival of the Cure. It was surreal – only days after our return from Brigmore, Piero and Hypatia burst through the doors of my office, Sokolov dragging his heels behind them in an effort not to seem excited, proclaiming that they’d done it. Even as I accepted Piero’s hand to shake and Hypatia’s shy embrace, I could not help but long for the two people Burrows’ infernal scheming had taken from me, and with whom I wished to share that day’s joyous news most of all._

_Distribution began swiftly, and already Dunwall’s future is looking brighter._

_The Whalers acted as one when Daud gave the order, but they have never been of only one mind and body. I knew that my explanation the night of the ritual was inadequate, and I knew I neglected my duty of care for them when I left to be with Emily instead. But I knew, too, that I would be in the way of what were, in essence, negotiations. The Whalers are not given to emotional decisions – and I write this knowing how deeply they care for Emily. They would give their lives for her, only they don’t see it as an act of love. As long as Daud was their leader, it was obedience, it was loyalty, it was seeing the job done as best as they were able. That they won themselves a little sister in the process – was not the point._

_And so it wasn’t the point, either, that Daud may or may not be dead, that he may or may not ever return from the Void._

_The Whalers were done with Dunwall, or so they thought, and the Brigmore job was their last call. The next one should have been the call to port, on the next ship out of Dunwall with Daud still watching over them. He wanted a better life for them than he could give them – than Dunwall could give them. Of course, his care for them was never about that, either. He was protecting his interests, his assets._

_His family. (I never quite rolled my eyes when he denied it.)_

_He saved me the day he went into the Void, saved Emily._

_The Whalers know this as well as I do, and they must have wondered what it meant. I have no doubt that they knew about mine and Daud’s relationship, and perhaps it was a sign of good will that they didn’t come to cut off my balls in the dead of night. Emily may have been innocent enough to explain to her that Daud had slept in the other room and merely used my bathroom to be safe, but Rulfio certainly was not._

_I returned to the Hound Pits a few days later – I’d sent Rinaldo and the others back under their own steam, and they got out of Dunwall Tower undetected thanks to their skills, not their powers. I should have been the one to explain to them what happened, but Thomas must have been kind enough in my absence._

_The faces that greeted me were bleary, and no-one was out on patrol, the schedule Daud had drawn up for the weeks beyond the Brigmore job still pinned to the wall, but forgotten._

_‘Were up half the night shouting at each other,’ Thomas told me with a shrug, coming to stand next to me by the door. He’d sent me a note the day after Brigmore, asking me to hold off on returning for a while. I’d heeded his request, as much as it might have been a warning, and now I waited, for another shouting match or possibly a punch or three. None came._

_Galia walked up towards us, her words regarding debts repaid ten times over still ringing in my ears; her bitter reproach of our failure to kill Delilah where she stood still like knives drawing across my skin. She regarded me with assessing eyes._

_‘Couple of us are leaving,’ she said bluntly. ‘Passage out of the city would be appreciated, if it can be arranged.’_

_I agreed, perhaps too eager to please, and then dared to ask, ‘Are you leaving, too, Fleet?’_

_To my surprise, she barked a laugh. ‘As if, Lord Protector.’ Then, she shocked me further by encasing me in a quick, one-armed hug, squeezing my shoulder. ‘The boss’d have our hide if we left you,’ she murmured, then turned to leave as quickly as she’d made her presence known._

_I turned to Thomas and my bewilderment must have been plain on my face. He shrugged again._

_‘She got good and drunk last night, and then declared that anyone who wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing had better fuck off within the week. Then she went to sleep it off.’ He excused himself then, citing paperwork. I let him go._

_Hobson and some of the other novices sat crammed into one of the booths, looking miserable, so I went to join them._

_‘Can you really bring him back, sir?’ Dodge asked with something like awe in their voice._

_‘I won’t stop trying, Dodge,’ I told them truthfully. I wanted to make no promises I couldn’t keep, but I needed them to understand that hope was not yet lost. I think I needed myself to understand that, too._

_We sat for a while, not talking, but eventually I realised we’d drawn the attention of the others. More and more Whalers were crowding in around us, filling the booths and sitting at the bar, albeit staying away from the spirits – on account of more than one hangover, most likely. Conversation was muted, but a constant hum in the background, and slowly I stopped feeling like the proverbial sore thumb._

_Still I startled when Rinaldo appeared at my elbow._

_‘I’m staying for her,’ he told me. Straightforward. Clipped._

_‘Will you do what I say, when I say it, as part of your duties to the Watch and to the Empress?’ I asked. I understood._

_He nodded._

_‘Then we won’t have a problem,’ I decided; and indeed we wouldn’t. It is my fault Daud was torn into the Void, not Emily’s. It is that burden that I will carry for as long as I must._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Ahahahaha I guess you're not gonna be thanking me for posting this.  
> b) I listened to Vesper's Theme (from the Casino Royale soundtrack) whilst writing most of this.  
> c) The Whalers :'( Thomaaaas. Galiaaaa. Rinaldooooo.


	4. Chapter One — I Cannot Follow You, My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo's search for Daud begins. Dunwall mourns an Empress. Daud thinks dark thoughts, and the Outsider offers to lend a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD FINALLY.  
> At least, I hope that's the general sentiment at this chapter going up.  
> I'm baaaack, babies, and oh god. OH GAD.
> 
> This story is basically me sticking my head into canon, myth, and philosophy and picking out the bits I like. I hope you'll enjoy the monster I've created. This story (and Part 4) will build the bridge to a retelling of Dishonored 2, so I've made liberal use of the old adage, 'When in doubt, make shit up.' EDIT: Daud is not going to be stuck in the Void for 15 years. This has been a PSA, kindly stop panicking. ;P
> 
> To all of you returning readers: welcome back, I've missed you! To everyone who's just stumbled into this absolute disaster: welcome, welcome, leave your shoes at the door and get comfortable. We'll be here until March. Updates coming weekly, as per.
> 
> Enough prattling — onwards.
> 
> Almost forgot: [here's the playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zX5hQGHes7M&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=39).

Weary, Corvo set down his pen and closed the diary, then stowed it safely in the locked drawer of his desk. He knew that it would help to separate fact from fiction, memory from fantasy, the deeper he ventured into the Void, if he recorded his thoughts and everything that was happening at the Tower. Daud had once advised him to keep a record of his dealings with the Outsider. Corvo had taken it in jest at first, but Daud had been deadly serious.

“You’ll want to distrust your own mind, once the Void’s played with it,” he’d said, and Corvo’s gaze had wandered over to the rows of notebooks lining the shelf behind Daud’s desk — this had been in the beginning of it all, in the Flooded District. “Best to make a note of it.”

Corvo hadn’t — made a note of it, that was — until now.

He put a hand through his hair and squinted into the light of the whale oil lantern on his desk, shining far too brightly in the darkened room. The fire in the grate had nearly gone out: he hadn’t tended to it, and the steward hadn’t been up since supper, which Corvo had taken in his rooms. With a sigh, he reached for his coat, draped over the high back of his chair. The Void called to him — the Heart called to him. He knew that she was close. She always was. Gently, he cradled the Heart, and as always he wondered how long it might endure. Did it look different from the day he’d first held it? Was the tissue really turning dull and grey, or was it just his imagination? And was he imagining it becoming weaker?

_Corvo._

“Hello, my love.” Corvo fancied she would have smiled at his greeting, both here and in the Void.

_Tomorrow…_

“Tomorrow,” Corvo repeated and felt the word just dangle there, like a sentence waiting to be handed down from the judge’s bench.

_I always used to think, if only I could stop the world from turning when we were together. Time with you always passed so quickly, and still every minute felt like an hour for how precious it was. Now, time has lost all meaning and I sense its marching on only in the changing of the seasons and how quickly Emily grows taller._

“She’ll have caught up with you soon enough.” Corvo was almost grateful for the diversion.

_Will it be a reward, I wonder? To grow taller than her mother, to be able to tower over those who would underestimate her now?_

Corvo tilted his head. “Are you asking me, or telling me what she’s thinking?”

 _A little bit of both, I imagine._ Her voice held an uncertain edge, the same way it did when she unwittingly spoke of ’the Empress’ as though they were not quite the same person, then and now. _I know you think it unfair._

“It is, in other things In this, I’ve surmised as much myself. We ordered new clothes for her recently, new day dresses and something suitable for tomorrow. Your old seamstress turned out to be still in business, and when Emily learnt that she used to work for your father’s tailor, she started asking her a dozen questions about how tall you were at her age and what you would wear,” Corvo told her, smiling a little at Emily’s interrogation on the matter.

 _She’ll be tall and strong, just like you_ , the Heart teased him, _and just as stubborn._

“Twice as much, I fear, seeing as I seem to recall your rejection of any attempts to dress you in green, no matter that it paid compliment to your eyes.”

 _Those suits would have fit in_ _perfectly_ _at one of Lady Brimsley’s tea parties and you know it_ , the Heart returned with a disgruntled air. At his scoff, she argued, _I’m sure Daud saw the inside of her parlour at least once, he would have agreed with me._

Corvo pressed his lips together for a moment, looking down. Collecting himself quickly, he said, “The Brimsleys wouldn’t have had the clout to have anyone killed they didn’t like.”

_No, but there were plenty who didn’t like_ _them_ _._

“So they would send in a heretic to kill a family of suspected heretics?“

_Or to ascertain if the rumours hit the mark._

Corvo weighed his head. For coin, Daud would have done that, too, in those times; and there’d been days, early on, when he’d half expected Daud to decide it wasn’t worth the bother and turn him in instead. He knew better now than to think Daud would have denounced the Brimsleys to the Abbey even if the rumours had been true, however. Corvo himself had heard enough about that family to separate fact from fiction. They might worship the Outsider, even make Him offerings, but He had certainly never answered what they might take for prayers.

_Corvo, I…_

Corvo sensed that this was the distraction over with. “What is it?”

_I don’t know how to ease your burden. You were always better at that than I, only I wish now that in death, I might have gained some wisdom._

“Jess…”

_Tell me true, Corvo. Am I adding to your pain by lingering?_

“Nothing you do could cause me pain, Jessamine,” he vowed. And it was true — hearing her voice through the Heart was not her doing.

_Is it selfish of me to stay?_

“Is it selfish of me to want you to?”

_If it is, then we are both selfish, in which case we make an excellent pair._

“I’ve been a year without you, and it feels so much longer yet like no time’s passed at all. As though you’re going to walk through that door any minute and tell me not to frown so much,” Corvo confessed.

 _Well, don’t_ , was her swift response. He laughed, at last, and so they remained for a while into the night. The Royal Protector and his Heart.

***

**18th Day, Month of Earth**

It was hours before Corvo and Emily could escape the throngs of guests still pushing their way into the Tower. Nobles, politicians, industrialists — all looking to get a glimpse at the tombstone, displayed in a glass casing underneath the painting Sokolov had completed sometime in 1835. The stone set into the ground of the gazebo had been off-limits to the public today  — and would be in the future — but Emily’s advisors had counselled that the people of Dunwall, too, ‘deserved a physical monument to their grief.’ Corvo had balled his fists, hidden behind his back under the guise of clasping his hands, and refrained from explaining to them that the people of Dunwall wouldn’t make their way into the Tower to weep at an empty grave — they were breaking their backs rebuilding the city, he wanted to tell them, _and in any case, it’d be the likes of you who’d be chasing them off with broomsticks_. In their estimation, the ‘people’ of Dunwall consisted of those clothed in garb rich enough to be seen winning an audience with the Empress, not those living in the muddied gutters.

Still, a second tombstone had been commissioned for the occasion, and the one in the gazebo would serve as the family’s private reminder of Jessamine’s death — and its circumstances – even as her bones rested in the Imperial Crypt.

Captain of the Watch Curnow had been there, as had High Overseer Khulan. They hadn’t been who Corvo would have wanted to see on the other side of Emily’s throne, but they’d been kind, bowing to Emily and murmuring condolences without the showiness that accompanied far more complicated — and false — declarations of grief. Khulan had offered to lend an ear should Emily ever wish it, but made no mention of a special mass or memorial service. Corvo remembered with sudden clarity the garish, overdone ceremony Campbell had eventually pestered Jessamine into holding for her father at the old Abbey. The only comfort they’d drawn that day had been that Euhorn himself would have disliked it, too.

Corvo wasn’t sure what Jessamine would have thought of the memorial today. There had been nothing laid down in her will — she’d had one, of course, confirming Emily’s claim to the throne and Corvo’s appointed position as her Lord Protector and Spymaster until the day he chose an apprentice for either one. But there’d been no details regarding her burial, or any occasion such as this. Generally, the rulers of the Empire were remembered as they wished. Euhorn had asked for no memorials beyond the first to mark his passing, no annual performances of mourning. He’d done it so as not to overshadow Jessamine’s rule with the memory of his own, Corvo knew — and surely Jess would have decreed the same. A bitter smile twisted Corvo’s mouth. He didn’t have to guess at that one. He’d asked the Heart one night, months ago, and the spirit trapped inside had confirmed what he’d already known.

Emily had given a speech, one prepared in advance by her, Corvo, Callista, and Hypatia; without any interference from her Council. They hadn’t used the speaker system to broadcast it throughout the city, it would be printed in the morning edition of the Courier, copies would be nailed to bulletin boards, and in a few areas, town criers would read it aloud to citizens willing to listen. Emily had chosen her words with the conviction that everyone who needed to hear them would, and that those who refused would not be reached by words alone, but by deed. In cooperation with the Abbey, alms-houses had been reopened, orphanages restored. With the advent of the Cure, they were getting closer to being able to dispatch clean-up crews into the Flooded District soon. It was this that would show Dunwall’s citizens that they had not been forgotten.

Leading Emily to the settee in his room, Corvo made sure that the windows were secure before joining her. She curled into him, burying her face in his coat. It was a familiar motion, but one that had never quite made Corvo’s chest ache as it did tonight. She had no idea of the Heart tucked into the pocket on the other side. She never would.

“I never want to do that again,” Emily said quietly, her voice taut with tears unshed.

“We’re going to have to,” he murmured, not wanting to upset her but unwilling to indulge the thought, either. Hiding from your past only gave it power.

She scoffed and pushed away, looking up at him. He expected anger, but instead he found a watery smile. “Rinaldo was right.”

“About what?” Corvo asked.

“You sound like Daud.” There was no accusation in her tone, but _something_ , and Corvo averted his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you don’t like talking when you’re sad. I know you don’t like… talking,” she amended, doubtlessly thinking of the many hours Corvo had spent, silent, behind her mother’s throne during her childhood.

“Only at Court,” Corvo meant to reassure her, taking her small hands in his, but she was right. He’d gone quiet when he wasn’t around her. Even when he was around her.

“I know that Daud helped you get better, after Mother died. And now he’s gone, too, and I don’t—I don’t know what to do.” She swallowed a sobbing breath, but only just, and Corvo sat and stared at her, feeling the air shift around them. It was _this_ that brought her pain?

“Emily, you’re my—” Empress, he bit back the words just in time. That was not what she needed to hear. “You’re my child,” he said instead, the admission quiet but still so impossibly loud now that they were away from the crowds. “I know we taught you not to call me father, but that makes it no less true, nor my duty to you.”

“Duty? Is that what being my father is?” His heart ached at the hurt so easily reflected in her eyes.

“You are your mother’s daughter,” he said softly. “And I serve at the Empress’ command.”

Emily made a face. “You also enforce the Empress’ bedtime,” she reminded him.

“Not forever.” Corvo sighed, unsure how to make her understand. “Em, my grief is not your burden to bear.”

“I can rule an empire, but I can’t help my father?” Emily asked, indignant.

“You are helping me,” he told her quickly. “You’re safe, and you are learning every day. That is the greatest gift you could give me, and _that_ is my duty to you as your father. I don’t know what it means to rule an empire, only you and your mother before you understood it. But your mother’s loss and Daud’s… disappearance. Those are things we share, and my grief is not your responsibility. It’s mine. As is yours. I cannot mourn for you, but I will not have you harden your heart for the sake of mine.”

“Is that what Daud did?” Emily asked, near a whisper, her eyes cast down.

“He came close, I think.” The admission hurt.

They lapsed into silence, then, each caught in their own thoughts. Corvo could only guess at what Emily knew, or thought she knew, of his relationship with Daud. She had never seen them kiss, no, or even embrace each other; but Corvo knew she saw more than she let on. Still, so many secrets kept from her, and for what? For her age, her _sensitivities_ , even as she sat the throne.

There was one secret he could give her, he decided. It was the day for it.

“Daud found something,” he began, “in Burrows’ documents. He gave it to me just before we left the Hound Pits.”

“What is it?” Emily’s tone was wary, but she could never resist a mystery. Much like the man who’d dropped this particular one in his lap without so much as a word, tipping his glass of whiskey at Corvo instead.

Corvo got up and went over to his desk, bent to open the hidden drawer on the bottom right. He retrieved a parcel of documents, loosening the ribbons as he stood. Emily immediately set to work emptying the side table of the books and documents scattered on the surface. Corvo made his way back, sat back down as she knelt on the floor between the settee and the table, and spread out the sheaves of paper for Emily to inspect.

“Floor plans?”

“Of the Tower and the surrounding grounds,” he nodded.

Emily traced her hands over some of the markings. “Fortifications… he—he wanted to encase the Tower in steel?”

Corvo smiled wistfully. She was quick. He nodded, and she scoffed. Going back to the plans, she drew out another sheet.

“What is this?”

“From what Daud and I could gather, Burrows had plans to build a safe room on the roof as soon as he became Regent. Later, additional living quarters were to follow, leading further up.”

“What about our rooms?”

“Cleared out, most likely, converted for other purposes. Of course, he was planning on keeping you around.”

“How generous of him,” Emily quipped. She turned over another layer and inspected the architect’s drawings, then paused. “Have you been in Mother’s room since—since we got back?”

Corvo could only shake his head. “No,” he admitted.

“I nearly snuck in once,” Emily said quietly. “But I couldn’t bring myself to open the door.” She looked up at him. “We’ve been back for months.”

“I know.”

Emily huffed. “I don’t… I hate being scared. Why am I scared? I’m not little anymore.”

“Neither am I,” Corvo said as he reached for her hand again and held it gently. “Neither was Daud.”

Emily looked up at him quizzically. “You were scared?”

“Of witches? Yes.”

“Of a room.”

“Rooms don’t have to have witches in them to be frightening.”

Emily looked dissatisfied with his answer, but let the matter lie. Shuffling back, she leaned against him, her back against his leg. Corvo let his eyes roam the blueprints another moment, new additions and familiar territory like, the pieces fitting together in his mind. Before he quite knew why, his brows drew together. Something... something wasn’t quite right. He sat forward.

“Corvo?”

“There’s something missing, on the second floor, the plans don’t—” Of course. Oh, how had he forgotten?

“What's wrong?”

His expression must have been something to paint a picture of, Emily sounded so worried. Guilt gnawed at Corvo. He’d never—it’d been Jessamine’s secret more than his, the chamber one of the few places where she could be alone, without even his company. Corvo had never begrudged her that desire; not when she’d been a teenager who’d picked him mostly to scandalise the Court and his constant presence had been a chore, not after they’d discovered their feelings for each other, not after she’d taken the throne, not after Emily’d been born.

“Come on,” he said, getting up and drawing her up with him by the hand.

“Where are we going?” Emily called, stumbling a little as she got up after him.

“To uncover a secret.”

They had to move quickly. Simmons would simply think Corvo was escorting the Empress to her rooms, but as soon as they rounded that corner, Corvo motioned for Emily to keep an eye out for guards patrolling the halls or maids and stewards completing their tasks for the day.

Emily nodded, her expression serious, and Corvo remembered Daud’s muttered response when Corvo had — jokingly — interrogated him regarding the stealth lessons the Old Knife had apparently been persuaded to give her. They’d only trailed Corvo around the grounds of the pub a few times, Daud perching up ahead and directing Emily’s movements with hand gestures and jerks of his head; and they’d been careful about it, too, but Daud had to have known Corvo would spot them ere too long even before he’d agreed. And yet, he’d done it anyway. Probably told Emily she was on her own if they were caught, too — as Corvo had always done when teaching her climbing or the basics of fencing with whatever sticks they could nick off the royal gardeners’ carts and it came to the question of Jessamine catching them in the act. Nudged gently on the topic, Emily had kept stumm, and Corvo had never told her he’d spoken to Daud about it.

She’d taken to it like a duck to water, too, weaving in and out behind old dumpsters and broken down walls; approaching it like a game but never insulting Daud by not taking what he was teaching her seriously. So now, she balanced on the balls of her feet, stopping to listen and scanning the gaps between the small spare bedrooms for approaching shadows. Daud had obviously taught her not to hold her breath, as it drove up the heart rate, sending blood rushing through the ears, and Corvo was impressed to hear her breathing evenly now.

Emily waved for him to pass, and he took the lead up the corridor.

“This way,” he whispered, quickening his steps. He’d cheated and used Dark Vision to check, and they had perhaps twenty seconds before a steward came up behind them.

Emily looked up in confusion when they stopped at a disused fireplace, then her eyes widened when Corvo turned the light fixture on the wall — and the back panel slid away. Corvo ushered her through, crouching and ducking in behind her, then quickly pressed the button to close the panel once they were in.

Dusting off her new trousers, similar in cut and garb to the ones Jessamine had worn as Empress, Emily straightened and took in the small, dark room. A little moonlight was filtering in through the small window, but Corvo stepped towards the desk and prayed that the lantern Jessamine had kept there still held a little whale oil. It did. He set it down, flickering, and turned back to Emily.

“What is this?”

“It’s your mother’s secret chamber. No-one ever came here but her.”

“Not even you?”

He smiled down at her. “Not even me.”

“And now?”

“Now, it’s yours. If you want it.”

“So… like a safe room?”

“If you like. Although this wasn’t really thought of as all that, it’s a little too out of the way. A proper safe room should be adjacent to your quarters.” Corvo had thought of such an addition to the Tower before; ever since coming back, in truth, and after finally taking a look at Burrows’ plans for the upper levels… something could be made of that, he thought, and it gentled a part of him that he worked every day to keep in check, that would never let Emily out of his sight, not even when she was with Callista or her tutors. But Emily would never grow if he hovered — no matter it wasn’t her he distrusted, but everyone else. There were Whalers among the guard at least, he reminded himself, even if the best of all of them was lost to them now. _For_ now.

Corvo supposed it might pass as a test, to come here first. For all that he carried _her_ with him everywhere he went, this… an old bottle of Dunwall’s Finest on the small writing desk, an ashtray with the remnants of the tiny cigars she’d favoured and never smoked where anyone might be able to tell, documents and scraps of paper with scribbled notes…

“This is addressed to you.” Emily held out to him a folded note, his name on the back in Jessamine’s familiar, steady hand. “And there’s a card in the audiograph recorder.”

“Play it.” Corvo flipped open the note.

> _Corvo —_
> 
> _I have missed you while you’ve been away. If I could trust anyone else with these matters, I would gladly send them so you could remain close. But there is no one else; and with Daud and the Whalers stationed across the river and watching over us, I suppose we are safe enough. It has been a month, and I only ever catch glimpses of leather belts and tunics because I know to look for them._
> 
> _I have summoned Daud, if that is the right word for it. I would speak to him, regarding the pub and final preparations. There is something else I will ask of him, and I suppose it depends on the outcome of this venture of ours whether you will know what I mean when you read this. You introduced him to Emily as your friend, Corvo, and I think you might just have made one; for all that you are both so very good at scowling._
> 
> _The Plague has taken so many. When you are away, every day seems a heavy burden. Even simple tasks seem worrisome. Emily is difficult to manage. And the great troubles of the City, the conflict and the Plague, all seem insurmountable. But when you are near, it is different. My heart is at peace._

Emily hadn’t moved, watching him read the letter instead.

“Play it,” he said again, barely keeping his voice from breaking. Jessamine wouldn’t have left something only for him to find. In truth, he couldn’t bear to be the only one. With trembling fingers, Emily activated the audiograph player.

> _Emily, my daughter —_
> 
> _I know that one day you’ll be grown up, and I wonder what you’ll remember of these years. Will you recall your time as a child with fondness? Or were there too many caretakers, formal dinners and lessons about boring old history? Maybe the precious hours we spent together will shine brighter - time captured now and then with your mother and with Corvo, who was always close to my heart. I hope the season of rats and plague will be nothing more than a passing shadow on your early memories. A crisis come and passed, weathered by your mother and her advisors. You’ll sit on the throne someday, and will do well I hope. It’s a tricky life, full of responsibility and peril. It was not your choice to be the daughter of an Empress, but I believe you’ll rise to the challenge. Stay good-hearted, Emily. Keep drawing and telling stories. And only share your power with those you truly trust._

With a click, the recording ended, and Corvo held Emily as she wept.

She hadn’t heard her mother’s voice in all that time.

* * *

As time lost meaning in the Void, Daud resisted the abandonment as best he could. He would look up at the sky that wasn’t and wonder at not being tired, at not needing rest, not even needing to let his mana recharge. He remembered when he’d first received the Mark and zipped through the Void in a poor imitation of a leapfrog. He’d been young, then, young and foolish and sick with a bloodlust that was both his own and not. The Void had given him much to think of.

The Void.

Vast and infinite in its reach and, perhaps, its cruelty. Daud knew the Outsider was always watching, had known before in the waking world and could only be absolutely certain of it now; so he stopped bothering with formality at some point, whenever that point was. Daud wouldn’t think it laughable to see he’d spent merely a day in the Void’s clutches and already abandoned dignity, what of it he had left. Constrained by the clothes that had served him well in Dunwall — in his chosen profession — he took off the belts and pouches, then his coat, made a packed bundle out of it and carried it like a knapsack.

His gloves went next. No more need for secrecy. The Leviathans seemed to know who he was, their vocalisations now well familiar. They floated high above, but close enough that Daud might suspect the sheer size of them. Of course men had built machines to hunt the mighty beasts. It never sat well with mankind not to be the biggest sort of monster in creation.

And to think the most he’d seen of his own naked hands recently was when they’d been caressing—no. Daud closed his eyes against the hurt rearing in his chest and breathed out decisively. No.

Now, he was in his shirtsleeves, trudging through the Void. He meant it as it sounded: he trudged. In the Void, he could now transverse without expending energy, could step through the Void, pull himself through time and space without cost. Perhaps it was an empty act of rebellion that now that he could — he wouldn’t.

The Void changed all the time. Sometimes, he would scale the torn-apart remains of the Chamber of Commerce, searching rooms upside-down for what was the same and what was different. Where before, the scenery would be different simply by virtue of Daud being pulled into the Void on separate occasions, it would now turn on a coin, albeit not in plain view. Instead, when he made his way into a house and then came out again, the Void ‘outside’ wouldn’t be as he’d left it. So far, the scenes he found had come from Dunwall exclusively, and Daud wondered when _that_ would change. He was not so naïve to doubt that the Void used what was inside him to show to him what he could not bear. He’d say it was the Outsider’s doing, but even though the Void god turned up to see him annoyingly often, he had not displayed any particular malice. _That was probably the tip-off_ , he thought.

Daud wasn’t sure he talked. To himself, perhaps, the way he knew he sometimes grumbled under his breath, the way the Whalers and later Corvo would tease him about if his expression wasn’t too forbidding (or, rather, not forbidding enough). But there was no-one else now, and he refused to talk to himself in earnest. So he didn’t. The Outsider and the Leviathans were his only company, and while one talked too little, the other talked entirely too much.

He didn’t sleep, either. He didn’t dream. Perhaps that was a kindness — the last he would ever be granted, as one would before an execution. Only now, it wouldn’t do to wait for the knife to fall. Daud would never know the swift song of the executioner’s sword. His punishment, final and forever, was far more fitting. He’d learnt, the hard way, that the world didn’t punish wicked people. He had walked Dunwall’s streets unmasked and with impunity — too useful to those who knew his face, and everyone else had been too afraid. But now, this, was finally what he deserved. Judgement had come.

He turned a corner upon completing the thought and found the Void had changed its face yet again. A face he knew very well.

These mirages never moved. A moment suspended in time, one would say, except this wasn’t even time, it was nothing. Daud stepped closer and stretched out his hand, but stopped, just shy of touching Corvo’s shoulder.

An evening in Daud’s office at the pub, one of so many the occasion was indiscernible, sharing tea or whiskey or whatever was needed to either keep them awake or finally put them to sleep. Daud fancied that perhaps, by the expression in Corvo’s eyes, preternaturally fixed on his own, and the infinitesimal smile curling in the corner of Corvo’s mouth, this was after they had first kissed. But then, Corvo had always regarded him with more kindness than he deserved.

Daud didn’t look over at himself, equally suspended in the tableau. It was nothing now not to have a mirror, as he didn’t exactly need to shave. As it was, he reckoned he could go a century without seeing his own face again and be quite content.

Behind him, the shadows moved. _He’s looking for you._

Daud knew not to turn.

“Tell him to stop.”

 _Don’t you know, Daud. I don’t_ tell _people what to do._

* * *

“Are you sure about this, Corvo?” Captain of the Watch Curnow was staring at him, openly aghast. “You mean to put two dozen witches up in Coldridge, and a gang of assassins in the Tower?”

“And why not,” Corvo challenged bluntly.

Geoff blinked. “It’s right next door,” he said experimentally, and Corvo could almost see the humour in it. Instead of laughing, however, he opened a drawer of his desk and retrieved a sheet of paper. He handed it over.

“These are your new recruits.”

“How many?” Curnow asked, not even glancing at it.

“Twenty-three.”

“I… we need the numbers, Corvo, make no mistake. And I don’t doubt that these men are highly trained, but are you sure you trust them?”

“Three of them have been part of Emily’s personal guard and the Tower Watch for the better part of a year,” Corvo responded, rather enjoying Curnow’s consternation. “The Empress trusts them.” He let that speak for itself.

Curnow, in his wisdom, knew when he was beaten. “Alright. I’ll draw up the necessary paperwork. As for the witches…” he trailed off.

Corvo shrugged. “Upon delivering news of their fallen scout and a delirious Brother Pradclif, the Abbey was amenable enough in charging them. Still, I convinced the High Overseer that it would not do to commence his time in office with a string of public executions.”

In truth, Khulan himself had had no desire to see the lives of countless women ended for participation in a few rituals – for that was all the Abbey had the proof of. With Delilah’s banishment, the members of her coven had lost their abilities, and all that had been left at Brigmore had been a handful of bonecharms and the acrid smell of soil in the planters. As it was, the witches had not been charged with treason or crimes against the Crown, as news of another plot against the Empress would have likely destroyed the fragile equilibrium Dunwall had achieved since Emily’s coronation. Instead, they had been accused of the abduction of two and murder of one Overseer; and as it had been impossible to reconstruct which of them had personally done the deed, the courts had thought it unwise to try and punish all of them for the same crime. They would spend a good deal of time in prison, but not forever.

Here, Curnow’s expression darkened. “You and Daud did not go to Brigmore to recover a pair of errant Overseers, Corvo,” he said sharply enough. “And you still won’t tell me where Daud is, and why he would leave the Whalers behind.” If Curnow found it disturbing to be discussing the Knife of Dunwall and his band of hired swords in this manner, he was remarkably good at hiding it.

“The Whalers have been pardoned of their crimes,” Corvo returned, “and the pardons sealed.” He fell silent, waiting.

Curnow watched him for a moment. “And beyond that, I’m not to ask questions,” he accused.

“No,” Corvo confirmed.

The Captain scoffed. “Anything else, Lord Protector?” There was bite behind the words, but Corvo barely felt it.

“Yes,” he said, paying no heed when Curnow’s eyebrows rose. “I need to speak to Breanna Ashworth as soon as possible.”

“She’s in custody,” Curnow objected.

“As soon as possible.”

***

Corvo hadn’t set foot in Coldridge since he and Daud had broken out Lizzy Stride – at least there was no more of that ancient music coming over the speakers. Making good use of the last remaining shreds of his authority, Teague Martin had cleared up the matter of the witch who’d broken into the Timsh estate and been caught by the City Watch efficiently enough. That had been only weeks before his death, and if Khulan knew that the prison’s interrogation room had had to be torn apart and rebuilt in the wake of a heretical supernatural phenomenon, he hadn’t mentioned it.

He could only hope that Breanna wouldn’t put up that much of a fight, although he expected no cooperation from _her_. Just enough information to put together another piece of the puzzle. The Whalers had helped gather the remaining notebooks and arcane texts from Brigmore and Delilah’s studio — Curnow’s men had done a decent job confiscating everything, but documents like that weren’t to be left in the hands of the City Watch. Only portions of Delilah’s notes were written in the common tongue and, well, Old Serkonan Corvo wouldn’t have had such trouble with, but the language that the witches used for spells was altogether different. An alphabet of its own, a language with its own rules. And he knew that, even if they found a key, Corvo couldn’t hope to pronounce any of it. The text for the original ritual had been kindly translated by Delilah, but the makings of the spell, her research, her notes — all were impenetrable to Corvo now. It would take months of work to unlock those secrets; months of work and one lucky break.

“Lord Corvo,” the Watch officer on duty called as he approached the first checkpoint. “We weren’t aware of any scheduled—”

"Not now. I need to see an inmate. Breanna Ashworth," he barked, deliberately impatient.

“Of course, sir,” the officer demurred with a little more haste than Corvo was used to, but he wasn’t about to look a gift ox in the mouth.

He was waved through, and indeed the officers inside had been notified of his… appointment. Corvo let them escort him to the interrogation room, walls freshly chalked, more for their peace of mind than his. Ashworth was already strapped into the chair.

“Leave us,” Corvo cut a glance at the officer standing guard.

“But, sir—”

“Leave us.”

“Sir.”

Watching the door close, Corvo then turned and walked towards the front of the room slowly, past the chair, past Ashworth, who was staring straight ahead. He leaned against the banister — the exact spot Daud had stood only months before. It felt like years.

Corvo didn’t wait for her to acknowledge him. "Paint flows, blood flows, life goes."

But she didn’t seem to have heard him, instead focusing on something far away. Something unreachable. Was she the same? Still searching, even though she’d been robbed of her magic? Daud had read from Delilah’s journal — she and Breanna had been close. Lovers? Most likely, he decided, at the shadow of loss in Ashworth’s expression. Corvo did not delight in having taken from her.

“Ashworth,” Corvo called.

Ashworth turned her gaze towards him as if she was seeing him for the first time.

“Murderer.” Then, the fight in her awakening, she began struggling against her bonds. "You, and Daud! Where is that bloody wolf, I’d like to rip out his eyes and feed them to you!"

Corvo had no time for revenge, even if _something_ inside him was howling for it. “Out with the old, in with the new,” he recited the rest of the ritual. “You’ve lived in these bones long enough.”

Ashworth snarled.

“You helped Delilah craft her ritual,” he led into his line of questioning. “What was the point of it, if it meant she would leave her own body behind. Leave _you_ behind?”

“You will never understand what Delilah meant to me,” Ashworth spat. “But more than that, you’ll never understand what the throne meant to Delilah. It was her right, and it was taken from her.”

“She was a baker’s apprentice,” Corvo kept tight reins on his temper as he contradicted her, Jessamine’s guilt over the loss of her childhood friend still cold in his heart. “She had no right to the throne.”

“She could have been a princess just like Jessamine. She should have been. What separated them, apart from an ounce of blood? The Kaldwins were no closer to the throne two generations ago than either of us. It was chance! Why should Delilah not seize hers?”

“She’d been planning on possessing Jessamine at first, is that right?“

“Empress Kaldwin was the obvious choice, even though the girl would have been perfect. Younger, she could have served Delilah longer; but it would have meant waiting. Of course, we might have simply poisoned the Empress once Lady Emily was of age…” Ashworth trailed off, that far-off expression back in her eyes.

Corvo’s stomach turned at the thought — Emily, possessed by Delilah. He and Jessamine would have never known, would have been forced to watch helplessly as Delilah’s spirit crushed the light in their little girl’s eyes and turned her against them.

“But then, Delilah had a vision of the young Kaldwin girl on the throne. Everything moved so fast after that.” Ashworth turned her burning gaze on him. “And then you, and Daud, destroyed everything. I’m surprised you haven’t brought him here to gloat.“

“He’s otherwise engaged,” Corvo delivered as smoothly as he could.

“You didn’t leave the young Empress with him, surely,” she goaded him. “We suspected he was sweet on you, but the children the Knife of Dunwall takes under his wing don’t usually turn out so well.”

“Neither did your sisters,” Corvo returned. “Locked up, all of them. Scared, teeth clattering all through the cold nights. Coldridge is no place for your witches any more than that damp old mansion was. You never should have taken them in — all you did was take them down with you.”

“The coven was strong!”

“The coven is _gone_ ,“ Corvo turned up the pressure. “It fell, and not to an army, but to two assassins.”

“Marked assassins who stole into our home like thieves in the night. Agents of the Outsider. He, too, betrayed our mistress,” Ashworth hissed.

“Betrayed? The Outsider does not play favourites. If Delilah thought she was safe from others who bear His sign, she was a fool.” Corvo wondered — had Delilah truly believed herself beyond reach? He had not yet found any indication _when_ the Outsider had marked Delilah, but he and Daud had suspected it must have been around the time of her apprenticeship with Sokolov. Another dig at the old man’s badgering, perhaps. For Sokolov, it would have been a slight to have his pupil succeed where he had, and continued to, failed. What had been their relationship, then? As fraught as Daud’s, as yearning and unanswered as Granny Rags? No, Corvo decided then. Delilah would have only seen the Outsider — even a god — as only another disposable source of whatever she needed on her way to the throne. Money, power… Arnold Timsh was living proof of it.

Only, that didn’t answer the other question Corvo could not fathom.

“Why did the Outsider mark Delilah?” he asked. “Why was she chosen?”

“She was brilliant and beautiful,” Ashworth replied. “Perhaps even a god is just a man, after all. Like all the others. Like you.”

“Like me?”

“You are Emily’s father, I can see that plain enough. She has your eyes, and… something of a mongrel about her.”

“Careful,” Corvo warned her, reminding himself of his plan. “Didn’t your _mistress_ come up from rags herself?”

“Well, yes,” Ashworth conceded blithely, “but at least they weren’t dirty Serkonan rags.“

 _Don’t let her rile you_ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like Daud reminded him. He nearly rolled his eyes.

“We’ve confiscated all of Delilah’s notes and journals,” he changed the subject before she could delude herself that she’d found a way to get under his skin. “Now all we need is someone to translate them for us. Or at least, tell us how.”

Ashworth scoffed. “None of my sisters will ever help you. Nor will I.”

"Tell me, or I will make you talk," he threatened — not because he truly intended to hurt her. It was just good practice to let her believe he would.

"Go on, Lord Protector. Torture me, put the hammer to my kneecaps, but I will not hand over the coven’s secrets to you.”

"Then you will never see the sun again," Corvo snarled, whether she took it as a plea or an attempt to reason, it didn’t matter.

"And such is the price we pay," Ashworth returned coldly.

Corvo stood up straight, then turned and walked away, not sparing her another glance. He had what he’d come for. But he’d be back — not just to speak to her. There were two dozen witches incarcerated in Coldridge’s heretic cells.

One of them would talk.

Upon his return to the Tower and his rooms, Corvo nodded at Simmons stationed outside the door of his rooms, who would soon trade shifts with Rulfio. It was strange, knowing so many Whalers were stationed in the bowels of the Tower now, sleeping in the barracks, being trained as recruits – having to pretend not to be a quarter as useful in a fight as they were. But they had been trained in the art of disguise and deception as well, and knew how to make themselves small and unnoticeable even as they reached for the knives hidden in their boots.

***

**Corvo Attano’s personal diary**

_Month of Nets, 1838_

_I suppose He took pity on me eventually._

_Imagining the Outsider to take pity on anyone seems incongruous at best and laughable at worst, and I should not like to preface the recounting of what he told me with ‘by the grace of,’ as the men of the Abbey are wont to do_ _when sermonising about the Strictures_ _._

_The Mark of the Outsider is not a blessing bestowed by a kind god, nor an avenging one. It simply_ _is_ _. The offer of a choice, perhaps, but not the promise of chaos as the Order would have it. The same man, with the same abilities but used for a different purpose,_ _can_ _direct the fate of the Empire because he ma_ _kes_ _a choice. A different choice._

_It took me weeks to find a safe place for Delilah’s paintings and the lantern; not merely because the Tower is being turned on its head now that reconstruction efforts are officially underway. Emily and I opened Jessamine’s quarters soon after the memorial. We pulled the linens off the furniture and uncovered her life as she’d left it on the day of her death. As if she’d never left, ready to step back into her duties when she returned. She should have returned._

_It was determined that I should move into these rooms, as they are situated at the centre of the Tower and overlook the atrium as well as the main stairwell. Emily will_ _eventually_ _relinquish her own rooms, when the throne room and additional living quarters on the roof are inhabitable; and the rooms we leave behind will be remodelled into smaller, spare bedrooms_ _m_ _uch like the one Daud had access to._

_I knew it would not do me any good to leave that door closed for as long as the other, so a few nights later, I made use of the keys in my possession while no-one was about. A maid may as well have been seeing to that room for all those months as_ _,_ _aside from the dust, there was no sign none of them had. The bed looked unused, the drawers of the desk were empty. There was nothing left of Daud here, I thought, turning to leave, when something peeking out from underneath the dresser caught my eye._

_A pair of gloves. Dark brown leather, worn and moulded to the shape of the hands that wore them. Daud carried a spare pair everywhere – for himself, I knew, and for me just in case, as his fit me well enough in a pinch. Before I could talk myself out of it, I bent and picked them up, folding them into the pocket of my coat._

_I held the keys. No-one else._

_So the decision was made. In moving my things into_ _Jess_ _’_ _my new quarters, I smuggled two more crates into the packing up, and diverted them towards Daud’s old room at an opportune moment. So now it houses Delilah’s paintings and the lantern, and there are stun mines attached to the ceiling rather than the floor. Void knows what I’ll do if, somehow, anyone ever wanders inside, but I suppose there’s time for everything once they’re unconscious._

_The first few times I attempted to step into the Void, I ended up where I’d dreaded I would: Delilah’s island. Tranquil and innocent now that the ritual had passed, it sat floating in the Void, revealing nothing_ _, not even to the Heart_ _. The first few times,_ _Jess and_ _I stayed long enough that, when I came back out, the sun had already risen and I had to make haste to attend to my duties before my absence was discovered. I sought for clues, and every time I went back, I turned each stone again in the hopes of finding more than the last_ _. Jess’ spirit searched every time we entered, but our surroundings revealed nothing we had not found before_ _. Each time I_ _went into the Void_ _, I retur_ _ned_ _sooner, but more fatigued. The s_ _cenery_ _never change_ _d_ _, and I beg_ _a_ _n to wonder if it was the price I paid for treading where I d_ _id_ _not belong._

_Until that night._

*

_Corvo._

Corvo whirled around, heart hammering in his chest. After so long, he should have expected the surprise, but he suspected he had rather made his peace with being left alone.

“What are you doing here?”

_Now, what manner of greeting is that for an old friend?_

“Friend,” Corvo repeated dully. “You are not my friend.”

_Oh? Then would an enemy offer to tell you how to traverse the Void in search of what you lost?_

“And why would you do that?” Corvo didn’t bother correcting the Outsider’s notion that his readiness to name himself an enemy revealed more about him than about Corvo’s present feelings towards him.

_The Void looks into your mind, Corvo. Until you understand that, the paintings will only ever act as conduits to what they depict – not to what they represent._

Corvo narrowed his eyes. “So I _can_ travel beyond this? I can go where the ritual took Daud and Delilah?”

The Outsider raised his hand. _One step in front of the other._ _I can help you._

An ungainly snort escaped Corvo. “Help? Your help does not come cheap or for its own sake.”

_Everything has a price, Corvo. Even love._

“Not mine,” Corvo snarled. “And I have no use for yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) OK SO BASICALLY EVERYTHING IS AWFUL, WE GET IT.  
> b) that's all I got tbh  
> c) yo also Daud and Corvo are still being dumb butts about this, what else is new  
> d) you thought you'd escaped finding those two letters Jessamine wrote, didn't you? JOKE'S ON YOU.  
> e) always good to end a chapter on _someone_ hissing at the Outsider  
>  f) also, poor Geoff Curnow: Thanks. I hate it.
> 
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Letter_to_Emily_from_the_Empress  
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Empress_to_Corvo


	5. Chapter Two — You Cannot Follow Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Could have just said something, you stubborn bastard,” Corvo growled into the silence of the room. No-one answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, hello, it's me! First of all, I wish you all a very happy new year, and I hope 2018 will give you health, love, and prosperity <3
> 
> Now, second of all, let me present you with this renewed attempt at breaking all your souls. You'll love it, I promise.
> 
> This chapter's soundtrack: [And the World Was Gone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMhfJS8HBKM&index=40&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

The news of the first notable political assassination since Jessamine’s death and the government’s fall into limbo sent shockwaves through the capital. Corvo had never doubted that this day would come, and had rather been surprised it hadn’t arrived earlier. Dunwall’s criminal circles were buzzing with speculation whether the Whalers were really finished — whether they hadn’t been ever since Daud had first been suspected of working with Corvo, either to murder the Empress or to save her. The Whalers hadn’t taken or bid on any jobs since then, which couldn’t have escaped any of their rivals’ notices. And now, Daud was rumoured to be missing, presumed dead by some and exiled by others, and the Whalers had abandoned their masks. In time, others had moved to take their place. Now that a new Empress had been crowned and the trench war between parliamentary factions declared over by default, the aristocrats were free to murder one another according to tradition.

In his office, Corvo rubbed at his tired eyes and brushed a hand through his hair to keep the strands from falling into his face before he turned the page. Contracts upon contracts were laid out before him — all of Daud’s, all of the Whalers’ work, in neat rows and columns. Tallied up, the money drop-offs signed for by the Whaler who’d collected it, and then by Daud himself. There were a handful of volumes just like this, but Corvo was only looking through them to find references to the dates he needed. The real task yet lay before him: Daud’s logs. Notebooks bound sometimes in leather, sometimes in linen, most clearly cut and bound by experienced hands. Dozens of them. Labelled fastidiously, they contained Daud’s research, notes on contracts and targets, the Whalers, the Outsider… it was all there. Knowledge collected over decades, enough to plunge the Empire into destitution if only he’d wanted it. So many lamented that the Empire as it stood was in ruins, but seeing what lay before him now, Corvo knew better than they what ruin really _meant_. Tracing his fingers across the page, across Daud’s familiar handwriting and biting sarcasm in every marginal aside he’d permitted himself in assembling these records, Corvo could not help but wish that he didn’t have to read these, but that the man himself were here to tell him; as though reading a story by the fire. Stories of blood and death and extortion, and yet Corvo would hear them.

Thomas had informed him of Daud’s wish that Corvo should receive all of his archives upon his departure from Dunwall shortly after the remaining Whalers’ induction into the City Watch. Much to Corvo’s consternation, the Whalers seemed to take no issue with this — Thomas, in turn, appeared to feel trepidation at what _he_ might think.

“Master Daud — he thought you might get some use out of it, at least,” was all he’d said, and it had taken Corvo a long moment to realise that Thomas’ uncertainty had to stem, in some measure, from Daud’s own. Daud had never elaborated when it came to past contracts, had only ever told Corvo what he’d needed to know to understand the source of either Daud’s amusement or his derision when handling any member of Parliament. And even now, in his absence, he was leaving Corvo with every little, gruesome in its recorded bluntness, detail. Even though it was selfish to relate everything Daud had ever done to what he was to Corvo, he couldn’t help… whatever they’d been, Corvo wondered if Daud hadn’t expected this to put paid to it. Intended it, perhaps, upon his leaving.

Daud’s voice as he wrote was very much as he spoke: concise, but with a dry wit that seemed to need no manner of coaxing out from behind a scowl as Corvo had come to expect in person, in excoriating with a few mere words the garishness of Lady Brisby’s drawing room decor as well as mocking the officers of the Watch for never having learnt to look up once in their lives. His contempt for those who would underestimate him sat right there between the lines, as did the clinical precision with which the Knife of Dunwall had done its work. Blood was running down these pages, and Corvo marvelled that it didn’t drip off the desk and pool at his feet even as he kept reading, transfixed. He would admit to curiosity, to a perverse sort of fascination with the way Daud’s blade had cleaved the flesh off this carcass of a city — for that was what it was made out to be in these recollections, no more than a pile of bones for the crows to pick clean. Corvo knew it wasn’t, knew there was more to Dunwall than the greedy and the desperate, dead and dying; but one wouldn’t guess it from the contents of these diaries.

They had been brought to him by the Whalers, under the guise of a scouting trip into the Flooded District — a way for the new recruits to prove their mettle, Corvo had argued performatively to convince Curnow, who’d agreed surprisingly easily, given his earlier wariness of the new additions to his corps. The Hound Pits pub had been carefully scrubbed of all evidence of the Whalers’ presence as well as any personal effects. Unmarked crates had been discovered in the basement and, unopened, shipped to Corvo’s new office at the Tower; he’d gone through them all that same night. The Whalers had kept some of their things and burnt the rest — their uniforms, their masks; had set fire to their pasts yet again to assume different lives as they had upon entry to the school. But they had collected a few of Daud’s things and stashed them in those crates, too. A spare coat and belt, pouches with unused bone charms, even a few clothes. Corvo didn’t know whether to feel embarrassment or gratitude when his fingers curled into the fabric of one of Daud’s white shirts. His vision blurred, however, when between the pages of one diary he found the drawing Emily had given Daud. It looked as though it had been folded and refolded many times. There were drawings of the Whalers, too, on pirate ships and milling around outside the pub’s distinctive blue doors. Those were things they could not hold on to lest they were discovered during an inspection of the barracks, so Corvo resolved to do so in their stead.

Assessing the new recruits was an excellent pretence for Corvo to see them regularly, and an even better one to allow them to see Emily, too. The first time had been only a few weeks after Corvo’s meeting with Curnow. The two dozen new members of the Watch had been presented to the Empress one afternoon, without witnesses beyond those who were allowed to know of their connection. It was strangely reminiscent of their first proper introduction at the Hound Pits, the night Daud had commanded them to remove their masks and ‘say hello.’ And that day, too, the Whalers had stood at attention, their faces bare and their eyes fixed on Emily; only when they were told to salute their Empress, it was not the way they used to. No hands curled into fists rested over their hearts in the Whalers’ customary salutation — no pirates’ greeting. Instead, they bowed as one. A strange sight, familiar though it was. The uniforms, though now still grey and dark blue, too, as some of the Masters had been made officers to balance the numbers, were wrong, as were the swords strapped to their hips and the pistols on their belts. Nearly all of them were wearing gloves, even though the season was warm, an easy habit difficult to shake.

It all felt wrong.

Once Curnow had left with a nod at Corvo and a bow towards Emily, the young Empress decided that formalities and speeches were pointless and instead launched herself at the first guard within reach — Rinaldo, unsurprisingly; who still treated Corvo with careful distance but didn’t refuse Emily now as she wrapped her arms around his waist. A few of the others blinked, as if waking from a dream, and then as quickly as the moment had come, they fell out of formation and gravitated towards Emily and Rinaldo. Corvo kept to the side and watched, reluctant to intrude. He’d asked them to stay for her, and so many had. Few had taken Galia’s… peculiar brand of advice and ‘fucked off within the week,’ and those now left he knew he could trust. He watched as Misha crouched down next to Emily, speaking to her quietly while her face was still buried in Rinaldo’s coat. Emily had wanted to see them far earlier, had wanted to accompany Corvo to the pub as soon as he himself had returned, but he’d cautioned her to wait. The Whalers loved her, of that he had no doubt, but there’d been no telling how they would react to even her kindness. Now, with time and choices made between them, they seemed comfortable at least entertaining the notion.

The Whalers helped as they could, as they were often assigned to clean-up squads sent into the Flooded District and the areas around Rudshore Gate. They knew those streets well, and even if the rooftops were now often out of reach, they remembered the sewers, too, allowing them to traverse the terrain with greater efficiency — something remarked upon by their squad leaders, who had to be periodically disabused of any notion that their new recruits had been members of the gangs known to have been smuggling contraband into the district, keeping afloat those of the infected who had invariably holed up in abandoned buildings to die. Curnow was efficient enough at heading off these enquiries by now; and Corvo thought to have detected some measure of amusement in the responses he sent. Even though Burrows had been unsuccessful in taking over as Regent and enforcing his despicable policies, Parliament had still acted callously throughout the months after Jessamine’s death. And so, Rudshore was near overrun with Weepers, who were tragically beyond salvation. Those who were infected but not yet bleeding from the eyes could still be cured, but for anyone else help had come too late.

The greatest task had been to find the dead — in all parts of the city. So often while travelling the sewers, Corvo, Daud, and the Whalers had happened upon cashes of bundled-up corpses, wrapped in shrouds and dumped beneath nearly all major districts. Dead Counters, as they’d been called, had not always taken their ‘duties’ seriously, nor had they been inclined to risk infection by travelling to the quarantined collection points near the Flooded District. They had marked those areas on their maps, too, and now that they had the Cure, Corvo could justify sending in soldiers and the Watch to dispose of the plague victims’ remains. Most of them would remain nameless, as corpses had had a way of being looted just before disappearing down a manhole and disease and desiccation rendering them unrecognisable. Still, they’d all been citizens of Dunwall once, and they would receive what burials the city could give them. To reduce the risk of a further epidemic, their bodies would have to be cremated, but the urns would be collected and buried in large patches dotted around Dunwall’s cemeteries. High Overseer Khulan had offered the administration of last rites for those families who had lost loved ones to the rat plague and wished for them to be commemorated thus.

Corvo struggled to emerge from these recollections of the past few weeks and rubbed at his eyes again, then closed and set down the log he’d been reading. Of chief interest, of course, was Daud’s research into the Void, the Outsider, and the powers he had bestowed on so few throughout the centuries. The Whalers, familiar enough with the subject matter, brought him anything they found during their forays into abandoned homes and libraries, but the work was slow-going. Daud had not collected all of his observations in a single volume, beyond his recordings of the years he’d spent travelling the Isles seeking out the Outsider’s shrines at least. And so, Corvo often found himself skimming the pages of one such diary searching for clues as to the extent of Daud’s power and knowledge of the Void itself and the magic it beheld, only to recognise a name or an important date and feel himself immersed in the remembrance of a life lived on the edge of a blade.

He’d found references, too, to the man who’d recognised the potential in Daud — for murder, Corvo wondered — observing him in the streets and back alleys of Karnaca, who’d taken him away to Dunwall when he was only 16 but already an orphan. The man had been the father of Black Sally, Corvo realised after a few paragraphs. Old Gerrick had famously been murdered by a rival gang; and those who’d done the deed had met with a swift end a few months later. It was obvious now that Sally hadn’t done it alone — Daud had taken revenge on the men who’d taken his mentor. Revenge not in any sense poetic or just, by what Corvo remembered of the tale, but final nonetheless. It was Black Sally, then, who’d helped Daud gather the coin to enter the Academy of Natural Philosophy; albeit only for a semester, after which Daud had departed Dunwall. The Outsider must have first appeared to him around that time, then, Corvo concluded.

“Could have just said something, you stubborn bastard,” Corvo growled into the silence of the room. No-one answered.

* * *

Corvo woke alone.

Disoriented, he recognised the room he was in, only it wasn’t—it wasn’t as it should be. It was Jess’ room and yet it wasn’t, and there were still mornings Corvo would expect to see her face when he rolled over. Then there were the days when he blindly reached across the covers expecting to meet with the calloused skin of Daud’s hands, to entwine their fingers just as he had been about to in his dream.

Those were the mornings when everything looked grey, as though cast through the shadow of the Void, and he could barely get out of bed for the weight on his chest. He reminded himself of the things he had to do. Keep Emily safe. Help the city heal. Find Daud. Reverse the ritual. Keep Emily safe. Help the city heal. Find Daud. Reverse…

On and on, until he had the strength to move. Emily did not question why he barely spoke some days, why his eyes were dark and the hold of his fingers on the hilt of his blade tight as a vice.

“I love you. I miss you,” he whispered to the Heart on the nights that followed those days; and he whispered it into the fabric of Daud’s shirt when he went to sleep.

One evening he confessed as much to Jessamine.

_You truly love him, then?_

“You know I do.” It wasn’t meant to deflect, but he had never been very good at hiding from her, nor did he want to. She deserved better than to be lied to, and he… he loved them both. He had for so long. And he had never…

_But will you tell him?_

“If I can only have him back,” Corvo admitted brokenly, “I will tell him anything.“

The Outsider never pulled him into the Void in his sleep anymore, as Corvo had a habit of arriving unannounced on the nights he did not rest. Following the Outsider’s cryptic ‘hint,’ Corvo had taken some time and considered his visits to the Void before. Whether he’d entered it by the shrine in the Flooded District or others around the city, or whether the Outsider had plucked him out of his dreams, the surroundings had always been familiar even when the Void itself hadn’t been, in the beginning. Scenes, known but altered, scattered into nothing and inhabited by shadows; but never the same. If that was the case, if the Void fed on the thoughts and preyed on the fears of those it took… then how could he ever hope to find Daud?

“I did not know you half as well as I think I should have,” he murmured into the dark and emptiness of his bed.

Granny Rags had been right. There was a hole in the world.

* * *

“Can you imagine what woulda happened if Burrows had gotten away with it,” one guard nudged the other. They were walking patrol along Clavering Boulevard as Corvo watched from above, keeping an eye on the docks ahead and one ear to the ground. “My brother said they’d have pinned it all on Attano and thrown him in Coldridge, locked the door, and tossed the key into the Wrenhaven.”

“Your brother is an idiot,“ the other guard growled. “You think a cell in Coldridge is enough to hold someone like Corvo? I saw him fight once, in the practice yard. Took on three men at once, moved like a whirlwind.”

“Tell that to the Empress, she’s still dead,” the first guard argued. Above, Corvo clenched his fist.

“You shut your mouth,” the second guard ordered. “No-one knows what happened that day. If Burrows was smart at all, he hopelessly outnumbered him, and still Corvo saved Lady Emily. You wanna tell me what chances you’d have stood?”

“Alright, alright, calm down. It was just a joke.”

“Don’t joke about that. And as for your idiot brother: you'd have to be lucky to escape Coldridge. And a complete madman. You'd have to be Corvo, in other words.”

Up over their heads, Corvo shrugged. He had a point.

* * *

“It is outrageous!” Lord Farland, member of the Council to the Empress, pompous oaf and lickspittle (‘you sound like Daud,’ Emily’s amused tone rang in Corvo’s ears), sounded over likewise, if muted, clamouring from his esteemed colleagues. The cause of their indignation and the comparative livelihood of that morning’s meeting was this:

**_The Blight of the Cobblestone_ **

 

> _Action is necessary if the Empire is to stand against the juggernaut of what is commonly called industrial progress. The momentum of this hungry beast requires equal vigor simply to halt its destructive advance. No action against the industrialization of our nation-states can be deemed too extreme when we understand what is at stake._
> 
> _The advancement of industry infects every aspect of our lives, and hazardous conditions assault the citizens of Dunwall daily. Workers are treated as disposable cogs in the machine, sacrificing their lives in the name of faster construction, mass assembly and greater profits. Should those of us in opposition to these trends not sacrifice themselves in the fight against our unfeeling oppressor?_
> 
> _Will we be satisfied when our children ask what a pasture is, and the best we can do is to point to a cobblestone street, black with the filth of mechanical production? Will we struggle in the coming years to recall a time when we actually made our pies by hand, or baked bread in the ways of our grandmothers?_
> 
> _What is at stake today are our very cultures, from the cold north of Tyvia down through Morley and Gristol, all the way to the warm south of Serkonos. All men and women with a love for our ways must stand against these changes._

They’d known Emily’s reign would never be easy so long as she was a child, and so the growing rumours of an anti-industrialisation movement gaining traction among both ordinary citizens and the upper classes alike did not serve to shock Corvo — merely to set his teeth on edge. These sorts of declarations were following hot on the heels of ones such as this:

**_The Leviathan’s Sorrow_ **

 

> _Little is known of Pacotti, credited with this series of pamphlets arguing against the whaling trade. While he is gifted, his views are nonsense and threaten the economic underpinnings of the Empire._
> 
> _01 Enslavement: On the breeding and husbanding of whales, versus hunting the beasts in the wild after "a natural and free life cycle." Pacotti offers no solutions for where these massive, malevolent creatures might be "pastured."_
> 
> _02 Dissolution: Laments on the destruction of "social" bonds between herd members. Pacotti actually uses the term "families."_
> 
> _03 Harmony: Drivel on the "aesthetic wonder" of what is, in reality, the great and terrible Ocean that ever-threatens to swallow us. Includes arguments on the "gentle nature" of the brutes, a notion refuted by seamen who return to shore, wide-eyed with tales of the whales' savagery._
> 
> _04 Disruption: Here Pacotti is on his weakest footing, issuing up feverish warnings against the displacement or transference of natural beasts from their native environments._

Banned by the Rudshore Trade Council, Pacotti’s treatise shouldn’t have been in circulation anymore, but Corvo was well aware that it was steadily being reprinted — and had half a mind to suspect Abigail Ames of keeping a few copies handy just in case. Still, he had invited her, with Emily’s blessing, to participate in a Council session at her earliest convenience. It just so happened to be this one.

“What the self-termed Luddites are failing to realise,” she now spoke strongly over the din, not the only woman on the Empress’ staff of advisors but certainly the youngest and the one of meanest standing, “is that industrialisation is not their true enemy.”

“And who would that be?” Lord Farland responded acidly.

“Greed and exploitation of labour and natural resources,” Ames volleyed back without missing a beat. “The whales are dying. Growing city populations mean greater demand in stockpiling whale oil to power the machines and devices now so dear to us and, frankly, to keep the lights on. We are hunting them down in numbers. I worked for Lord Ramsey long enough to know that the cost of whaling expeditions far outweigh the gains made with the oil, unless prices go up. And they do, every day, until eventually no-one but those even richer than you will be able to afford it.“

Silence met her declaration. Daud had been right — Ames’ voice was one of many needing to be heard in Dunwall Tower, and sometimes it frightened Corvo that the burden should be on Emily to defend this choice. Even Jessamine hadn’t broken convention to this extent.

“How long until whale oil rationing becomes inevitable?” Emily asked Ames.

“Your Majesty, I truly do not think—“ Lord Farland stopped short when Emily raised her hand.

“I believe I asked Miss Ames, not you.” Emily turned towards her. “So?”

If Ames was surprised — or at all impressed — to see the Empress of the Isles conduct herself so, she didn’t show it. “It should have become mandatory years ago.” She paused. “Your Highness.”

“We will take your opinion under advisement,” Emily told her. In truth, they had discussed the necessity of such measures often enough before, behind closed doors, but had hesitated introducing such a policy during the first year of Emily’s rule. But the festivities to mark her first year on the throne were soon upon them; and while it would not do to announce such controversial measures on the day of the celebration in her honour, the Empress might soon see fit to make the first of what was shaping up to be more than a handful of unpopular decisions.

“Your Majesty, I really must protest,” Leonora Helmswater spoke up. “Introducing a whale oil ban now would be unwise.”

“The introduction of rationing does not constitute a ban,” Emily corrected her. “It is not ideal, but whale oil is our most precious resource. We must protect it if Dunwall is to prosper.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Helmswater was forced to agree.

* * *

The Void liked to tell Daud where to go, he knew that much, but now it was getting ridiculous. Everywhere he turned, it was slamming up walls, hemming him in more than before; and showed him images. Scenes of the life he’d left behind, only it wasn’t his.

Corvo, Emily, and Jessamine. A happy family, the day Corvo had returned from his travels. No assassination, no Whalers waiting in the wings, Burrows nowhere to be seen. Emily was embracing Corvo as her mother read the letter that would define the fate of the Empire. Judging by her expression, a cure had been found.

They’d never needed him.

Daud let his gaze slide away, and turned to leave. He transversed across the Void, searching for the whisper on the wind that heralded Delilah’s wandering spirit. Instead, he found the library at Dunwall Tower, with Emily on her makeshift throne and Corvo beside her. They were laughing, a rare unobserved moment alone between the new Empress and her father. Daud had counselled against making the declaration of acknowledgement too soon, certainly not before Emily was of age; lest she became known as Emily Attano rather than Kaldwin.

 _See_ , he thought. _They don’t need me._

Emily’s hair seemed longer than he remembered, and her clothes were different, similar to her mother’s, and he wondered how recently just such a scene had played out in the world beyond.

_They’re not waiting for me._

He stayed longer this time. It would do to remember this moment, he decided, to remind himself that Emily was growing up just fine. She was safe.

Daud moved on, and on, and it was some time before another scene formed just as his feet touched the rock he’d transversed to. Considering how many times he’d seen Rinaldo in his Watch uniform, it shouldn’t have taken Daud so long to recognise them, but his recollections stuttered at the image before him now. Emily, Corvo, in a room he didn’t recognise. A proper throne room, Daud realised, taking in the making of the room in particular: instead of the high-backed chair adorned with the imperial banner, Emily was sitting in an unusually curved seat made out of what looked to be steel, cushioned with leather. She looked older, Corvo too, and they were flanked by Whalers — officers, by the looks of it, advanced through the ranks. They looked severe and dour, faces half-obscured by their helmets, their uniforms blue and red; and the latter not from blood, for once.

A rolled-up piece of paper, secured with a ribbon, was hovering by Emily’s shoulder.

Knowing better, Daud reached for it.

_Daud,_

_I am very sad. They say that you're dead like Mother, but I'm going to put this note in a bottle and throw it into the river because I do not believe them. Living here is very strange. I do not like it, so please come for me if you can._

It was a lie. A lie, he knew. She did not need him. No-one did.

* * *

Night had fallen and Corvo was back in his office — but not alone. Half a dozen Whalers were dotted around the room: on the settee, in the chairs by his desk, even on the floor by the hearth. They were helping him go through the research and arcane texts they had collected over the past few weeks, as well as Daud’s logs and Delilah’s collected journals and notes.

Corvo himself was reading one of the longer pieces Daud had written on the subject of the Outsider’s gifts, one he kept returning to without quite knowing why.

**_Cobbled Bits of Bone_ **

 

> _They say my mother was a witch, but the truth - as is so often the case - depends on perspective and your place in the world. She relied on poisons made from exotic herbs and the blowfish that live in the reef-waters near Pandyssia. Her power originated in hallucinogens delivered through guile or by force to those who crossed her. There was an unusual intensity in her gaze for certain, but it came from within, not from the Outsider. It's what happens to anyone pushed to the absolute edge of sanity and survival, who stays there for years then returns to walk among the sheep in so-called civilized society. My mother was crafty, but if it was anything more than powders, hidden knives, and guile, I never saw it._
> 
> _Like they tell children, some of those truly touched by the Black-eyed Bastard can move through the space between rooftops like a sparrow. Others command armies of rats or poisonous flies as easy as they wriggle their fingers and toes. The Overseers are right to fear us, to warn the common folk to stay near their homes at night and keep their families close._
> 
> _But there are other ways His influence manifests itself. Those who serve me share in some of what I can do, and I suspect it's the same for Delilah Copperspoon's coven. Then there are those who can craft runes and charms. The old woman across town - they call her Granny Rags - she carves and polishes the bones of whales, stringing them together and opening them to the Void until they moan like fever-sick on a cold night. I've found a few of her talismans, and with each one I touched, a tiny piece of me departed and settled in with her. What does she gain? A longer life? Some other kind of power I don't understand? The making of things is beyond me._
> 
> _I've known four people in my time who carried the Mark of the Outsider, but I've known dozens more who wanted it, who stood at night in stagnant ponds or begged with the dust blowing through graveyards. People who gutted farm animals or burned the flesh of men, thinking it would call forth the Void. I met a dying man once who had collected runes and charms for years. He crushed them all into powder, made a paste and ate them, thinking he could gain whatever magic was in the things. His death was long and painful. I also knew a woman from Karnaca who would trade for charms and other bits of whalebone. She cracked them apart and fused them back together, then sold them. I bought one of these corrupted charms that she swore would cause sharp metal to break on my skin, and it worked. But each time it did, one of my teeth turned black and fell out. After the third time, I gave it to one of my men. Now when he smiles, it's all bleeding gums, and I wonder what parts inside him are turning black._ _The way recent jobs have gone, I’d say he has three months, maybe four; if he doesn’t leave first in light of what I mean to do. I wouldn’t be surprised._
> 
> _Sometimes I ask myself, without these gifts, would I be a man to fear? Would I be called the Knife of Dunwall, with my name whispered through the markets and the alleyways, the high towers and drawing rooms? I'd like to think so, but it really doesn't matter. As long as I bear this Mark, I'll use whatever craft I have to force my will on the world. The harder trick is undoing what I've done._

Corvo knew that the reference to rats could not have been a nod to him, but it wasn’t why this excerpt captured his attention so. Certainly, it had been written before their first encounter but _after_ Daud had received the contract from Burrows. All the things those who’d sought the Mark had done — and what had they gained? Death, most of them. ‘I’ve known dozens more who died for wanting it,’ Daud had told him once when discussing their entangled powers, a sharper variation on what he’d written here, and undoubtedly the truth. Corvo remembered an errant remark made by the Outsider, too, about Sokolov. The Outsider preferred those who were _interesting_ , Corvo was not blind to that. But did he want for people to worship something He was not, or was He loath all of the attention from those He had not chosen, and never would precisely for their pleading?

Corvo had memorised the runes and sigils of Delilah’s ritual. Her island in the Void was where she had willed magic into reality, so they would have to return there to unmake it, he reasoned. But just in case they couldn’t, he’d copied down the sigils and anything else he’d found. He couldn’t make sense of it yet. Much like Daud’s own records, Delilah’s were fragmented. Corvo had been in and out of Coldridge during the past few weeks, questioning witches, making promises of amnesty to some and threats of execution to others. He’d always taken a ‘reap what you sow’ approach to interrogations, and the members of Delilah’s coven were treated no different. Eventually, one of the more doe-eyed among them cracked, pleading tearfully for her life, and her sisters’. Corvo had simply inserted a new card into the audiograph recorder and told Moira to keep talking. As it turned out, even the translations of arcane texts Delilah had written herself would only be of limited use to Corvo, under the circumstances. Delilah had put her own twist on the ancient language and taught it to her witches, essentially adding a layer of encryption. Corvo appreciated her cunning even as he loathed her. The witch who had finally confessed hadn’t been with the coven long, her own grip on Delilah’s writing not as firm. But she had, nevertheless, agreed to help.

Obviously, Corvo could not risk letting any of these documents into Coldridge; so instead, he’d had her draw up an alphabet and basic grammatical rules as well as a glossary of any and every word she remembered. She’d struggled to explain the changes Delilah had made, but he’d instructed her to provide examples. If there was a pattern, they would find it. This, of course, was only the first step. He had no measure of the chances of success in recreating the ritual even if they did understand the spell. Beyond that, it would take more than mere words to _reverse_ it. Ashworth was by far the most powerful member of the coven, second only to Delilah herself, and even she, Corvo suspected, would not have been able to carry out the ritual entirely on her own. And even if they could — the danger of drawing Delilah back out of the Void along with Daud was not lost on Corvo, nor the danger to Daud’s life. He had read some of her regular notes on focusing spells; using paintings, for instance. He had a half-formed idea in his mind that involved the painting Sokolov had done of Daud and that they had discovered, quite by accident, in Bunting’s gallery months ago. Daud had wanted to sell it immediately, needing the coin more than the reminder, but Corvo had persuaded him to hold on to it. It was hidden away with the Whalers’ other things now. Still, it was beyond risky to even make the attempt.

Corvo was willing to do whatever he had to.

As the evening wore on, the Whalers excused themselves one by one, to return to their barracks in the bowels of the Tower, leaving their research and notes neatly stacked on Corvo’s desk. Thomas was the last to hide a yawn behind his hand and get up from the chair. He, too, arranged his notes so that Corvo might make some use of them, and stood. Corvo expected him to bid him goodnight and leave, but the young man hesitated.

"Isn’t it perhaps time to consider that there will be… no return?" he asked, surprising Corvo and yet… not. After all, it was a question Corvo refused to ask himself every day.

"No,” was his only answer. It always was.

"Corvo, it’s been months. You haven’t a single lead, we are no closer to finding a way to reverse or even recreate the ritual Delilah used… and you, you’re running yourself into the ground," he finished quietly.

Corvo stubbornly set his jaw. "We were… bonded, Daud and I. Our Marks, our powers, they were tangled up somehow. We were aware of each other’s abilities, and he even summoned me once to save me. He’s not gone, Thomas. I can feel it."

Thomas’ face twisted with pain and then, suddenly, he took off his left glove and held up his hand. "I feel something, too, Corvo. Nothing," he cried, his usually so calm expression slipping to reveal the grief that plagued him — him and, no doubt, all remaining Whalers. "We didn’t just tap into the Void by running with him, we felt _him_ , too. He was always there for us, saved us, and all he ever asked was loyalty. And now, the Void inside us is silent. We have to make our peace with that."

Thomas was breathing deeply, visibly drained by his outburst. He avoided Corvo’s eyes, put his glove back on instead. When he looked up again, his manner softened and Corvo’s heart ached all the more for what he knew the Whalers had lost.

“I’m sorry, Corvo. We all are. But you still have the Mark, and for us... this is how it ends." With a sigh, he turned to leave.

"What if I could give you back your powers?” Corvo asked, arresting Thomas in his tracks. He had not spoken of this to anyone, had barely dared to think it. There were things he’d found in Daud’s logs, mentions of more of Granny Rags’ recipes and records of a power she shared with someone who might have ended up working for Burrows — Morris Sullivan, a boy born mute, who’d been apprenticed by Vera Moray even before she’d lost herself in her pursuit of the Outsider and the Void. Hers seemed to have been limited to one recipient, but Daud’s, perhaps by the Void’s anticipation of his growing following, had formed to include as many Whalers as could take the Bond. The gifts of the Void were never the same to any two people.

"You what?" Thomas asked sharply.

"If I found the right ritual, if I could give you back the Void. Would you take the Bond?” Corvo persisted.

Thomas stepped closer, watching Corvo. "Where is this coming from? What did you find?"

“There was something in Granny Rags’ notes. It points to a specific rune composition. Daud makes mention of it, too, in his research, so there has to be some way of piecing it together."

"And why would you give us back the Void?"

Corvo found it difficult not to shift under Thomas’ bald stare. Daud had taught him well. "I know I can’t ever replace him, I can’t be what he was to you. But I can return your powers to you, and some new ones, if it takes. Not everything has to change. Those of you that want to stay — I will need your help keeping Emily safe. And you have my word: all I will ever ask is loyalty, but not to me. To her.“

* * *

**Corvo Attano’s personal diary**

_4, Month of Hearths, 1838_

_I have begun meditating before entering the Void through the paintings, attempting to calm my mind and focus on where I mean to go rather than what I expect to see. The first few nights, there has been no change — the same island in the Void. But if Delilah could go wherever she wanted through a series of paintings, then surely I can shape my mind into a similar sort of focus. Daud once taught me that magic was infused with intent, not power, and it is this path I must follow if I am to find him. I will try again soon, but Thomas’s warning and Emily’s concerned glances have cautioned me against spending all my nights in the hidden room. I cannot afford to be lax in the pursuit of my duties as Royal Protector, nor as Spymaster, yet… the Void calls to me_ _when I stay away too long_ _. I can feel it. I will return. I must._

_Sometimes, I just want to stay, in the Void, and… drift. I feel more entwined with the whispers on the wind every time I’m there, but I never let go. I never just listen, for fear of remaining too long and, I suppose, for fear of losing myself in it._

_But there are other, more worldly problems I must contend with._ _An advisor at Court has suggested that I might marry, to dispel some of the persisting rumours regarding my ‘devotion’ to the late Empress, and Emily’s parentage. If I were to marry so soon after returning to the Tower, they reason, it would_ _divert_ _some of the_ _attention away from_ _Emily and her precarious position. I reminded them that at least now she possesses the rumour of a father — were I to_ _t_ _ake that away from her, I’d only make it_ _more_ _difficult._

 _My stomach turns at the thought. One, for abusing what power I_ _have_ _to deceive some noblewoman, even an amiable one, into a sham marriage, and two, for the sickness of my own heart. I’ve loved two people in my life, this I know, and I do not have it in me to love another._

 _Time is passing with speed that belies the slowly turning wheels of politics and bureaucracy, and it will yet be months before either the whale oil rationing policy or the renovations to the Tower are fully approved. Emily, in the meantime, has set her sights on a goal that is not draining the Flooded District or the preservation of resources_ _for her people_ _._

_She has asked me to teach her how to fight._

_Her arguments were eloquent, and had the world been kinder to us I’d have teased her whether she’d rehearsed them with Daud before coming to me. I am both terrified and pleased that she was the one to make the suggestion. Daud and I have spoken before on what a training schedule for her might look like, once she was old enough, and neither of us were blind to the necessity. Our enemies will come,_ _they are already here_ _, and it would be foolish not to teach her._ _I remember how Daud told me that I ‘w_ _ill_ _not be around to protect her forever, bodyguard,’ and even though he made no mention of it at the time, I wonder if he was_ _including_ _himself_ _in that warning_ _as well. Only, he couldn’t have known how much shorter his time with us was destined to be._

 _Emily said she was sick of other people putting themselves at risk for her, and it was no use telling her that_ _it_ _was our duty — she would not have it. Not of me, not of Daud, not of the Whalers who now guard the high walls she lives in_ _side_ _. She wants to be able to protect herself, but others, too, and it is that_ _which_ _incites the most, perhaps ridiculous, paternal pride in me._

 _So, yes, I will train her. Light lessons for now — posture and core strength. No weapons_ _yet_ _, I told her, but I can teach her all the stances that she likes. I do not yet know how to explain it to Callista, only that I suspect she w_ _ill hardly_ _disapprove of ways for Emily to work off some of her boundless energy between lessons; even if those ways will hardly be perceived as… courtly. But then, her mother carried a switchblade in her boot, so she would hardly be the first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) A couple weeks ago Resri asked me if Daud was convincing himself Corvo's not in love with him again. OH LOOK HOW YOU'RE RIGHT ON THE MONEY.  
> b) I always found Corvo was being incredibly naive in the 'Emily asks Corvo to train her' scene in _The Corroded Man_ , so here's my take on that.  
> c) I'm also ruthlessly exploiting my ability to take artistic liberties in making Abigail Ames a part of Emily's council in order to inject some much needed Realpolitik. Like, Christ, maybe if Emily grows up slightly less sheltered...  
> d) I've always wondered what Corvo's politics were, in the game. I mean, you'd _think_ he'd be more critical of all that royal shenanigans (and vocally so when guiding Emily when she's Empress), but I guess... not...?  
>  e) Whalers are getting hugged and I regret nothing.
> 
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/The_Blight_of_the_Cobblestone (transcript contains an error)  
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/The_Leviathans%27_Sorrow  
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/Cobbled_Bits_of_Bone


	6. Chapter Three — I Am the Distance You Put Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Outsider takes advantage of Daud's company. Corvo finds the Void a changed place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was travelling for work again this week but managed to work on Chapter 8; and I promise you it is an absolute corker. Fluff! Fluff, as far as the eye can see. Until then, please enjoy the misery as it is laid out here.
> 
> But also, I want to thank all of you who've been reading and kudos-ing and reviewing for your continued investment in this story!! Getting this third part off the ground has been a little daunting due to the sheer size of it (chapters are bigger, for one thing) and what this whole thing has to set up for future parts of the series; but also because I'm really very busy at work atm and carving out time to work on this is a joy and a challenge both. Your support and kindness mean a lot to me. Just wanted to let you know <3
> 
> This week's soundtrack: [Deep End (Ruelle)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6C3ND1nitRs&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=41).

_You’ve not asked me about Corvo._

“I don’t ask about the living,” Daud corrected the Outsider’s presumptions, marching on.

_You’re not asking me about Jessamine, either._

Daud stopped and looked out into the vastness of the Void. “The Heart does not know everything, it seems. Or else Corvo would already be here.”

_Or she’s still trying to guide him to you. You’re not exactly staying in one place._

“Can’t very well, with the Void shifting around me every five minutes. How does that work, anyhow?“

If the Outsider was inclined to _chat_ , Daud would damn well make use of it and dig for details. The Outsider himself responded by sitting down heavily on the enclosure wall to his right, crossing his arms.

“That is the most human thing I’ve ever seen you do,” said Daud critically.

_I don’t look human?_

“You look human. You don’t move like a _person_. You hover, you float… but you don’t slouch.“

The Outsider straightened his back demonstratively. _There. Better?_ His tone only made Daud all the more uncomfortable because, usually, he could rely on the Outsider openly mocking him. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“You don’t have to come all the way out here to humour me.”

_I’m not humouring you. I’m taking advantage of your company._

“Taking advantage sounds about right.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “But since you’re here, answer me this: do you know where Delilah is? Right now?”

 _No_.

Daud had the terrible notion that it was an honest answer. “How can you not know? The Void’s supposed to be infinite, but if anyone’s the lord of it—“

 _I’m not the lord of this house, Daud. No-one is. Not the gods that came before me,_ _certainly_ _not_ _me_ _._

“The old gods,” Daud dared a guess. “They existed?“ All those tales, of ancient cults, temples in Pandyssia; forgotten civilisations long crumbled into dust. His mother would tell him stories when he was a boy, and he would never know if they were just hers or myths of the land she came from. He’d believed them, when he was little, but the Outsider had always seemed so… singular. Forever.

The Outsider nodded.

“Can they be found?” Daud wondered. Were there other, perhaps more ancient parts of the Void, different worlds inside the spheres — was it possible? Where the Void did not draw on the minds of the spirits that inhabited it, but… on the Outsider’s? On its _own_?

 _I doubt Delilah’s looking for the Dead God_ _’s_ _brow_ _._

“How can you be sure? How can you not _see_?“

_Nothing is sure in the Void, old friend. If there’s anything I’ve learnt over the past four thousand years, it’s that._

”Four thousand years?” Daud repeated, baffled despite himself, then frowned. “Before the Great Burning..?”

 _Before the wars_ , the Outsider nodded. _It has been a long time, Daud._

“But not… forever,” Daud prompted, clumsily perhaps, but how did one ask a seemingly all-knowing, immortal entity how long they’d been around?

_I lost my name so long ago it may as well have been forever. But to answer your question, no. I’ve not been the first._

“Might you be the last?” When in doubt, ask the insensitive question, Daud found.

_Who knows?_

Daud rolled his eyes at the vagueness of the answer. “Should know better,” he said to himself.

_Than what?_

“Expect a straight answer out of you,” Daud volleyed back. “Moonshine, all of it. And you,” he snarled, slowly but surely feeling an old grudge return, “sitting in the Void and deciding who gets your precious _gifts_. How could I ever be so stupid to think it was.”

_Was what?_

“A gift.”

_Did I ask a price? Did I extract offerings from you?_

“You wanted _blood_.”

 _Careful, Old Knife._ The Outsider was terrifying in His indifference. _You_ _wanted blood. I wanted to see_ _your potential_ _fulfilled_ _._

“And then you turned your back,“ Daud accused, surprised at himself for the bitterness of it. Hadn’t he explained to Corvo himself, it wasn’t cruelty that had done it? “Because I wasn’t _interesting_ enough.” But perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised that theirs was a wound that would never heal quite right.

 _Because it was time_.

“Time? To move on? To find someone else to bother? Excellent idea!”

 _Time to realise my mistake._ _Thinking you needed any help becoming who you needed to be._

“And what kind of man was that?”

 _The one ruthless enough to be tasked with killing an Empress._ It sounded so simple, the way he said it. And Daud was right not to have done it, he was surer of that now than he’d ever been.

“You could not have _known_ then,” Daud decided, had to. The implications otherwise were too—

_You’re right, I did not know. But I saw something in your future and in hers, and in the future of her city… I did not know how, but it was intertwined._

“Ever considered leaving well enough alone?” Daud rasped, knowing full well that question came nearly thirty years too late.

 _And where would you be if I had? Dead in a ditch, or in an unmarked grave next to your mother’s_.

Daud bared his teeth. The Outsider didn’t shrug.

_I had the most marvellous time watching you cut them all to pieces. But the path you’d started on only knew one destination, or so I thought. I had no interest in watching you walk the rest of it._

“To my death at Corvo’s hands, come to take revenge?” Daud suggested, for that was how that story would have ended.

The Outsider tilted his head. _To the destruction of your spirit._

Daud did not know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. For a long time (or what felt like it), neither of them spoke. Until…

 _Corvo refused_ _any more ‘help’ from me_ _._

“Good.” Even to Daud’s own ears, the words rang harsh and hollow.

* * *

“Shh, did you hear?” one trader whispered furtively to the other, stacking shipping crates. “They say the Royal Protector’s losin’ his hair.”

“Nonsense,” their friend scoffed. “And if he’s going grey a little early, who can blame him? Empress or not, a teenager’s a teenager. Believe me, I know.”

“Aye, but it’s gone all brittle and dull, they say.”

“ _Who_ says?”

“One of my friends is a maid at the Tower. She says she saw the cuttings.”

“Och aye, and she told _you_?”

“She’s worried! Knows my Da was a doctor’n all, and asked if I knew anything about that.”

“Oh alright, and next week she’ll tell you she saw a horse barking on the roof!”

Hidden in the shadows above the docks, Corvo’s attention was called away by the Hatters emerging from the pub on the other side of the road.

* * *

Corvo was just about to sign the documents in front of him when someone knocked on the door. Frowning, he checked the time. Ten already — that would be Thomas with the night’s Watch reports.

“Come in.” Reaching for his cup of coffee, he took a long sip as he watched the young Whaler-turned-guard enter. Perhaps that might help wake him up.

“Good morning, Corvo,” Thomas greeted politely.

They had of course spoken since that evening, since Corvo had offered the Arcane Bond, or to try to attain it at least; but the subject had not come up again and Corvo would not draw it first. He had made the offer, he had sense enough not to press Thomas for an answer.

“Morning,” Corvo replied, hoping to hide his fatigue and most likely failing. “Anything interesting?”

“Depends on what you would deem _interesting_. A break-in at a bakery, perhaps, with the culprit apprehended two blocks South, wheezing under two bags of flour? No? Well, here’s the rest of it. No murders, but a few drunken brawls that ended with bloody noses. The gangs were quiet, it’s almost like the Hatters don’t know what to do with themselves since the Geezer died and Trimble disappeared; even with the Bottle Street Gang and the Dead Eels encroaching on their territory. Oh, and there’s this,” Thomas handed him the usual stack of papers, plus a letter encased in a courier’s tube. “From a deck hand down at the docks. She asked to have this brought to you and requests an audience.”

“Alright.” Corvo accepted the reports and the message and put it aside to read later.

“She works on the Corinth, a trader. Says she’ll be in Dunwall for a few days.”

“You spoke to her?”

Thomas shook his head. “One of the lower watch guards stationed by the harbour did and brought it to me.”

“Is it urgent?”

“Maxwell says she made the impression.”

Corvo sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, read her request at least. If I can’t make it down to see her this week, I’ll have the port master notify me next time the Corinth docks in Dunwall.”

“That should be good enough,” Thomas shrugged.

Corvo drummed his fingers on the wooden desk. “About that break-in…”

* * *

  ** _DUNWALL COURIER_**

_1 st Day, Month of Timber, 1838_

**_Empress Appoints New Advisor to Her Council_ **

_By decree of Her Majesty Emily Kaldwin I, it is hereby announced that a new permanent position on_ _Dunwall Tower’s_ _council of advisors has been filled. The Empress has appointed Abigail Ames, a prominent member of Dunwall’s workers’ union, to the new seat on_ _h_ _er staff. Miss Ames is_ _tasked_ _with_ _assist_ _ing_ _the Crown in matters of labourers’ rights and commerce._

**_New Whale Oil Rationing Policy to Go Into Effect By the New Year_ **

_Dunwall Tower has announced today that efforts to institute a “sensible and viable solution” to the growing shortage of whale oil that affects Dunwall and wide parts of Gristol are drawing to a conclusion. The new policy is expected to be passed into law by Month of Earth, 1839._

_“The proposed policy is not a ban,” a spokesperson for the Empress told the Courier. “We are simply seeking to conserve the resources at our disposal, without disadvantaging citizens in districts most affected by the Plague.”_

_Whether this noble goal will be achieved remains to be seen. Perhaps the appointment of one of Dunwall’s most well-known labour advocates (see announcement) is a sign of change. Or, it could be a smokescreen to conceal the government_ _’_ _s true intentions. In any case, any such policy will first have to_ _pass_ _Parliament_ _muster_ _— with many of Dunwall’s nobility vocally opposed._

* * *

Corvo did, in fact, find the time to go down to the docks two days later. He had an appointment with Ichabod Boyle that he was not particularly inclined to take at the Tower, about the Crown’s investments and state of reserves now that the city had begun to stabilise in the wake of the Plague. So while he was down on Kaldwin Boulevard, he would make the detour before anyone could get it into their heads to sidetrack him. The letter the deck hand had sent him had contained only the details of the captain she served, the ship she was working on, and her name: Meagan Foster.

The trading ship she had named sat in the bay, currently taking cargo — including but not limited to what was on the manifest, if Corvo had to guess. The blockade was close to being lifted, but in times like this, no respectable captain relied only on what they could sell under the watchful eye of the City Watch. Corvo wandered closer, ignoring the curious looks tossed his way from guardsmen and civilians alike. He knew well enough that the reputation that preceded him had changed — since Jessamine’s death, in obvious ways, but during the past few months as well. Corvo had never sought renown as Jessamine’s bodyguard, and even now that he probably should speak out more, he talked even less.

He approached the Corinth, keeping a weather eye on anyone who seemed to recognise him with intent. A young boy, twelve at the most, fell into step with him.

“Looking for anyone in particular, sir?” the kid asked, amiable and just a little too eager to please to be anything but short of rations.

“Deck hand, name of Foster,” Corvo told him.

“They’re loading up the cargo now, sir, she’ll be busy. But I can let her know you’re here? Should be another ten minutes.”

Corvo hid a smile and nodded.

“Be right there,” the boy was quick to make off towards the ship, but Corvo called him back with a sharp whistle. “Sir?”

“Name?”

“Ternion, sir.”

Producing 5 Coin from his pocket, Corvo tossed it towards him. “Forget who it was who came to see nobody, Ternion, and there’s another in it for you when I leave.”

A toothy grin overtook the boy’s features. “Much obliged, sir.”

Corvo turned away from the Corinth and observed the workers, guards, and merchants populating the docks. There were few people here now compared to the crowds these docks drew when trade between the Isles was in full swing — hopefully something Dunwall would see again. Out across the Wrenhaven and towards Kingsparrow Island, he could see whales breaching the surface of the water; but those that came this close to the coast were usually too small to harvest any profitable quantities of oil from, so they mostly remained untouched. Mostly — the markets still needed meat, of course.

He did not have to wait long until someone approached. He turned. Later, he would laugh at himself for being taken by surprise so easily.

"Lurk." He didn’t hide his incredulity now, then caught himself. “Or should I say, Miss Foster.”

"Lord Protector." Her expression was closed, but not as cold as he’d expected — would have expected, had he any notion of ever seeing her again; let alone so soon. “You look like shit.”

"What are you doing here?"

"You mean, why are you not running me through for bringing the witch down on you who has torn Daud with her into the Void?" She started walking, gesturing towards an area a little out of the way, small steps leading into the water at the side of the docks. A blindspot — not quite the shadows they were each accustomed to, but they would do, and so he followed.

"Something like that,” he agreed, too caught off guard to sort out what he was even feeling at that moment. In the chaos of the fight against the witches, and certainly since Daud’s disappearance, he had all but forgotten about Billie Lurk. She’d betrayed them and Daud had spared her; it had been his decision, and Corvo had made no attempt to reverse it. But for her to dare to come back to Dunwall now, to make _contact_ …

"I left Dunwall only days after Daud let me go, but I… kept in touch. I heard about what happened, so I made sure to find a ship headed for Dunwall that would hire me as soon as I could,” she explained. Only pieces of the story, but the ones that would suffice.

"Who," Corvo demanded.

"Thomas," Billie admitted, apparently realising it was useless to lie and cruel to sow mistrust between him and _all_ the remaining Whalers. ”He tracked me down and asked for help, and… look—don’t punish him."

Thomas, of course. Thomas, so carefully indifferent to his handling of the matter when he brought it to him. ”Where?”

"Karnaca." When Corvo didn’t say anything, she shrugged. "I know. Smuggling’s en vogue in any port, but Karnaca... caught my eye. It’s a good place to be. To lay low."

"And what were you hoping to accomplish by coming here?"

“The old man would kick my ass for doing this, but I’m serious, Corvo. I can’t apologise for what I did to Daud, but this… What I said in my letter, which I’m sure Daud showed you, was true: my head hasn’t felt this clear in years. The further I got from Gristol, the more my powers faded until they were none but gone; and even now, being back… the connection is severed. I stand by my ambitions, Corvo, but I know now that they were not all mine. The Void changes us, and I let it. I wanted it. And Delilah used that to turn my head.“

“What do you suppose you could even do?“ Corvo wanted to scoff, but it came out more like bitter doubt.

“I gave Daud all I know about Delilah and her coven back at the Hound Pits, but I can do research. Daud always said I am good at finding things — or people,” she said, lifting her chin. “There’s a lot of the old faith left in Karnaca, in all of Serkonos. It’s worth a look, and you can’t go. I can. And what I find, I can run back to you.”

“And then,“ he challenged. “Do you fancy you can buy your way back in, with information the currency?”

Her eyes turned hard, and dark, and _that_ was the Billie Lurk he remembered — the one he needed to see in order to believe any of this. “I don’t want any part of it. I deliver you what information I can find, and then I’m gone. If you do get him out of the Void, I don’t want Daud to know I did this. If he ever sees me again, he’ll kill me, I know that well enough.”

“He’s had enough of killing,” Corvo felt compelled to point out, whether to prove her wrong or to rub salt in the wounds torn by Daud changing into someone she hated right in front of her, he couldn’t even say.

She smirked. “He’ll make an exception. Just like he did for you.”

“An exception? To what rule?”

“The one about never letting sentiment get in the way of a job,” she said, sounding almost bored — but Corvo knew there was more to Billie than _that_. More than attitude, and more than feigned indifference. There had to be, otherwise she would not have meant so much to Daud. Otherwise, her betrayal wouldn’t have hurt him so. Otherwise, she would not be here now. “Is that it, then? Your answer?”

“What do you think it’ll be?“

“You’ll say yes, if you never have to see me again. Which can be arranged.”

“What did Thomas tell you? About what happened?“ he asked instead of giving her a straight answer. She contained her exasperation well, but Corvo knew what desperately wanting out of a conversation looked like on people, even someone as well-versed in subterfuge as Billie.

“He told me you were fighting Delilah, that you conducted a ritual and something went wrong. That the Void itself opened and swallowed them both,” Billie recited what had to have been a rushed, cramped letter from Thomas, written after his shift and before his bunkmate — Fergus — returned from the showers. “Daft old man,” she added.

“Daft old man?” Corvo prompted.

Billie rolled her eyes. “Sentiment, remember? He did it to save you.”

“He did it to save Emily. She was Delilah’s target,” Corvo protested almost reflexively.

She frowned at him. “Don’t be so naïve, Lord Protector. It doesn’t become you.”

“I do not presume to know what he was thinking,” he shot back.

“I do,” Billie returned. “In our—in his line of work, you don’t get attached. You love someone, you pay the price. He knew that.”

Now it was Corvo who struggled to contain his fidgeting, blood rushing to his feet at the implications of her words. “Daud did not love me,” he managed. “He made a promise, and he kept it.” That was all. Daud had never _said…_

For a long moment, Billie only stared at him.

"He—he went into the Void for you, and you’re talking about honour?" There was anger in her now, pure and true; anger and loss.

“No.” Corvo shook his head. “He honoured his promise to the Empress. He never made one to me.” He bit his tongue, but too late. What promise would he’d have cared to extract, he wondered?

“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?” she retorted, heavy on sarcasm.

“Tread lightly, Lurk,” he growled, his own nerves now running to anger because that was easier than pain, hackles rising at her impertinence. She shrugged.

“Are you accepting my offer or not?” she changed tracks seamlessly.

“Fine.”

“Good. I’ll send someone with whatever I find. Give me a few weeks.”

“Send Ternion,” Corvo said and waved the boy over, who’d been not so subtly watching them out of the corner of his eye. “He’s already forgotten me.“ He pushed past her and tossed Ternion another fiver on his way towards the steps leading up to street level. He didn’t look back at Billie. Her eyes were keen enough to watch him leave.

* * *

“Corvo!” Geoff Curnow called on his way up the stairs in the atrium of the Tower. Corvo, retracing his steps, met him on the landing.

“What is it, Captain?” he asked, inviting Curnow to walk with him with a simple gesture. Curnow nodded, falling into step beside him.

“Well, you asked to be kept in the loop regarding our new recruits,” Curnow responded, inclining his head with deference to the public circumstances of this particular conversation. “And it’s been a month since we spoke properly.”

“Let’s take this into my office,” Corvo suggested.

Once they were upstairs, Corvo offered Curnow a seat by the hearth. “What can you tell me?” He knew well enough that Curnow’s initial misgivings had given way to a somewhat more vested interest in the Whalers’… training.

“Well, they try very hard to be useless, I’ll have to give them that,” the Captain began, then nodded when Corvo offered him a cup of tea. “I _know_ what they can do, but you wouldn’t know it to look at them.”

“Daud trained them well,“ was all Corvo was prepared to give — not on the subject of the Whalers’ abilities, but on the subject of the man who’d been in charge of them. He sat in the armchair across from Curnow; with coffee, not tea. He needed something stronger.

“He did. Still, for all that they’re pretending not to know their way around a sword, they do good work. Their watch rotations are tight, and they’re alert without needing to be told. Almost too much so. Good thing they’re guarding the Empress, or the other guards would wonder why they’re so high-strung.”

Corvo hid a smile. “One thing they can’t hide, then.”

“Just barely.“ Curnow shrugged. He eyed Corvo for a moment, then put his cup down on the saucer resting on his lap. “Corvo… I’ve not asked questions in all this time, not truly. Not when you got rid of Campbell, not when you and Daud had me arrest Burrows. I’m ashamed to say I was content to; the less I knew, the better. I’d have never gone along with Burrows’ schemes, but I wouldn’t have been the one to openly rebel, I think we both know. But now that I’m working with the Wh—the recruits, and so many of them little more than children… Who was the Knife of Dunwall, really?”

“What do you mean?“ Corvo deflected the question, sipping his coffee and buying himself time.

“I hear them whisper about him, you know. They _miss_ him, but they never say whether he’s dead or missing or banished. I knew enough to realise you were close, Corvo, but you won’t talk, either. And I… have to wonder.”

“Wonder what?“ Corvo asked, sharper than intended.

“If he was close to you, he was close to the Empress,” Curnow laid out his thinking clearly enough. “And he wouldn’t have been unless you trusted him. These kids trusted him. I guess what I’m asking myself is… was it a man holding that blade? Or a monster? Who was he?“

Corvo looked down at his hands for a moment. Curnow seemed sincere enough; and the Whalers — Thomas — spoke of him with respect. Eventually, Corvo raised his eyes and answered: “Whatever you needed him to be. He killed for coin, he raised a band of assassins on his own. He helped me keep Emily safe. Now he’s… gone. For a while.”

Curnow regarded him, trouble in his eyes no closer to being taken away. “Is he dead?”

“No.”

Apparently recognising the finality of the answer, Curnow nodded. “One other thing, if I may. The… abilities Daud and the Whalers were rumoured to possess… that _you_ are rumoured to carry…”

“What of them?” Corvo knew better than to play it nonchalant. Curnow knew, he had to.

“Well, they’re not… do they still have them? I can’t imagine it’s easy to resist using them.” Curnow looked almost sheepish, a strange expression on his narrow face.

“It’s not my place to say,” Corvo said simply.

“That’s it?” Curnow prompted, some of the old challenge, easily mistaken for resentment, back in his voice.

“That’s it.”

Curnow was quiet for a moment, then he weighed his head. “Alright.” He went back to his tea.

* * *

  ** _The Hungry Cosmos_**

 _[Excerpt from a longer work on the movement of the spheres - By Anton Sokolov]_  

> _Once the curtain has been lifted, it becomes inescapable that we inhabit a world adrift in a sea of howling chaos, a terrible maelstrom in which all heavenly bodies orbit a devouring core. Though the trip could take many thousands of lifetimes, all cosmic objects are eventually dragged into this hungry nexus and forever cease to be._
> 
> _Though they are moved by eddies in the celestial medium, stars offer guide points in the otherwise perilous blackness. Our own sun holds its planets close in our inexorable course toward oblivion, giving us life and warmth until the end._
> 
> Corvo put down the manuscript and looked over at Sokolov and Piero, sitting across from him at his desk. Hypatia was at the Academy for the day, presenting their findings in the making of the Cure and how they pertained to her own research to the board — Corvo fought the notion that he would end up dearly missing her common sense sometime within the next half hour.

“What does this mean?” he asked. Best to get it over with.

“It means that we inhabit a world adrift in a sea of howling chaos, orbiting a devouring core,” Sokolov told him smugly.

Corvo counted to five in his mind. “I know what it _says_ ,” he bit out. “What does it _mean_?“

“It means the Void gave birth to the stars and the sun gave life to this world, but eventually the Void will take it away. Slowly, the planets are shifting in the sky, until they are so close to the centre that they’ll be crushed. It doesn’t _feel_ like we’re moving because of the vastness of the sky, and the sheer distance. It will take hundreds of thousands of years, possibly even millions, before it comes to that,“ Piero explained, lacking at least some of his colleague’s smugness.

“And you mean to publish this? Now?“ Corvo asked them doubtfully.

“Are you suggesting I defer the publication of my findings to a time when it is more convenient for the Crown?“ Sokolov questioned, incensed.

“Exposing you to the censure of the world for caprice, and the Academy to its derision for disappointed hopes? I think not, Anton,” Corvo replied with a glare. “But this will cause an uproar, and if not among the citizens for its wordiness, then within the Abbey.“

“Your sarcasm is uncalled for,” Sokolov chided, severely overestimating the effect his disapproval would have on Corvo — he dealt with Callista on a daily basis. Scientists of questionable morals hiding behind their genius and fame did not scare him.

“You are the Empress’ court physician and Director of the Academy. Any such publication _will_ affect Dunwall’s relationship with the Abbey, the Oracular Order, and its people. This will scare them at best, and have the Overseers accuse you of heresy at worst. Again,” he added sharply.

“I think you are putting far too much stock in the Abbey’s grasp on natural philosophy,” Sokolov shrugged. Next to him, Piero looked pained.

“And you too little,” Corvo shot back. “They may revile the Outsider and misunderstand much about the Void except that they can use it to scare people into complying with the Strictures, but they will understand this.”

“If anything, they will seize upon it as proof that the Void is out for humanity’s destruction,” Sokolov argued.

Corvo raised a brow. “And is that what you want? Playing into the Abbey’s hands?”

The way Sokolov was looking at him changed then, from annoyed to shrewd. “Are they really my adversary, Corvo? Or yours?”

“Perhaps you should like to ask the High Overseer himself,” Corvo offered, deftly ignoring the implications. “He’s coming by just after lunch.” When Sokolov’s face fell, Corvo grinned.

* * *

  ** _The Isle of Tyvia_**

 _[Excerpt from a volume on Tyvian geography and culture]_  

> _Northernmost among the Isles, Tyvia is dominated by snarling mountain ranges that rise up from frozen plains. Travel between cities involves arduous treks through territory thickly infested with terrible bears and packs of hounds adapted to the climate. Despite these conditions, Tyvian art, architecture, food and fashion are ornate and complex, marked by an intricate refinement that perhaps arose as a counterpoint to the cold, harsh land itself._
> 
> _While people in the lower city of Caltan share much with their nearest neighbors in Morley, most Tyvians are a breed apart, shaped by generations of life in the inhospitable cold. Austere and regal, Tyvians are proud of their customs, food and history, and have little concern for the Isles to the south._

* * *

As wary as he’d been in the beginning, Corvo found himself slowly willing to trust High Overseer Khulan. His kind words especially to Emily on the day of Jessamine’s memorial had commended him in Corvo’s eyes. No platitudes, no assurances of her mother having passed peacefully from the world and into oblivion. Instead, he had expressed his condolences and actually seemed sincere, had regarded Emily and Corvo equally with compassion, but without pity. Once more, he had reinforced his offer of counsel should either of them seek it, and left it at that. In a sea of duplicitous faces, his presence had helped settle Emily somewhat, not least because he had remained close to her seat, occasionally going so far as to divert approaching nobles from their path when Emily began looking a little overwhelmed. Corvo, running his own interference on the other side of her, with some assistance from Captain Curnow, could not help but feel gratitude, and had expressed it in a letter a few weeks after the ceremony. In it, he had also invited Khulan to regular meetings at the Tower, if he were so inclined, to talk about the progress of the charitable ventures the Abbey was involved in.

“Lord Protector,” Khulan said when he was permitted entry to Corvo’s study. “It is good to see you.”

“And you, High Overseer,” Corvo greeted him. As they shook hands, Khulan’s searching eyes passed over his face.

“You look tired, Corvo,” he observed, and it was difficult for Corvo not to look for guile hiding in the words and the concerned expression on his face.

“The more efficient a Spymaster’s network, the more paperwork he has to do,” Corvo deflected with a strained smile. Just strained enough to be believable, enough of a smile to deflect the situation with humour: “Some would say not to flatter myself, but who else is going to do it?”

Khulan took the bait and laughed. “Seeing as you are imperial secret keeper, I should hope no-one,” he answered good-naturedly.

Corvo nodded, satisfied that the subject was dropped. As far as the regularity of their meetings went, this one was a little out of the ordinary. “Not to be an ungracious host, but what brings you here? We were not due to meet again for another fortnight.” He gestured towards the visitors’ chairs, bidding his guest to sit, and rounded the desk to take a seat himself.

“I do apologise for occupying your time at such short notice,” Khulan inclined his head politely, “but news from Tyvia have reached me that trouble me exceedingly.”

“What news?”

“The Hero of Tyvia, Zhukov, has vanished.”

“Zhukov? I’ve heard that name,” Corvo frowned. The High Judges of Tyvia thought little of Gristol’s influence, and even less of sharing their intelligence with Dunwall, military or otherwise.

“The Hero of the State is… a vigilante, if you will,” Khulan explained. “He is tasked with keeping the peace, fighting the bandits and those who would incite revolution.”

Corvo watched the High Overseer carefully for signs of disapproval — or favour.

“You told me once the state of corruption in Tyvia concerned you,” he ventured.

Khulan nodded. “And it still does. I shall be direct: I love my country, Corvo, but I am no fool, nor martyr. I believe I can be honest with you, so I will tell you that I do not believe the High Judges always know to act in the best interest of their people.”

Corvo tilted his head in consideration. “Go on.”

“The Hero of the State is a tool, a figurehead, presented to the public as a guardian; when at any time he could be turned against one of them if only the right… information is provided.”

“What happened to Zhukov?” Corvo decided to cut to the chase.

“There are those who say he worked as an agent for Dunwall, now that he has disappeared and the rumours of a coup I mentioned to you when I first arrived still persist. Only it cannot be proven. Please, Corvo, if you know anything…”

Corvo hesitated. He did. Then, he retrieved a stack of papers from his locked drawer.

“Seven months ago, I sent an agent to Dabokva,” he began, watching as Khulan’s eyes widened. “They’re a native of Tyvia themselves. That is chiefly why they were chosen, aside from the fact that I felt I could trust them with such a task. They were sent to investigate possible ties between Hiram Burrows and any Tyvian agents or officials.”

“Have they found anything?” Khulan asked with a glance at the papers Corvo had produced.

“Some. Burrows, according to underworld gossip, managed to turn a Tyvian agent. We eventually found corroboration for this in Burrows’ own files, albeit well hidden; and their identity is still unknown.” Corvo paused. This was something that still baffled him — that Jessamine hadn’t seen fit to tell him. Certainly, she had not shared everything she’d discussed with the late Royal Spymaster with him, as that rather defeated the purpose of the position’s need for secrecy; but especially in light of what Burrows had been revealed to be capable of while operating under little oversight, Corvo had hoped that she would have told him if anything like this had been on the table. Evidently, she hadn’t. Equally, it rankled that Burrows did not record the names of his agents — the man had written down every other sordid detail of his conspiracy in his desperate need for order, but that he’d had the sense to omit.

“And what of your agent? What else have they found?” Khulan questioned, and Corvo contained a grimace. This was the difficult part, and a detail that fit all too well into what Khulan had just relayed to him.

“I haven’t heard from them in three weeks.”

“By the Strictures,” Khulan breathed. “What happened?”

Corvo shrugged. “There’s a lot that could have, but the simplest solution usually proves to be the most likely. They were either captured or killed. If they’d seen it coming, they’d have returned to Gristol by now. Lying low in Tyvia never works for very long.”

“The High Judges?”

“Not necessarily. If Zhukov was Burrows’ agent and my envoy got close enough to discover the truth, Zhukov may have been forced to kill them to keep his cover. Only now that he’s vanished, he’s likely not been successful. Have the Judges denounced their Hero?“

“No, nothing has been made public. I think you know the stories of sentencing a man to ‘freedom’ in Tyvia?”

“I do.” Corvo sighed. “At this stage, I’m afraid the Hero of Tyvia has as much chance of overthrowing his government as he does turning up dead.”

*

Khulan had just left, and Corvo was alone with his thoughts once more. He got up from the desk, wincing at the stiffness in his back. He had hidden it well enough from his visitors, even Sokolov, who regarded the human body as one would a machine, searching for the cogs and levers that were due to break; but the past few weeks had not been kind to him.

The Void had finally changed. After months of meditating and only minuscule changes in the environment whenever he entered the paintings, after months of searching the Void with human eyes and whispering low with the Heart in his hand, the night he had stepped through with his hopes so low as he had ever known them, a sight had greeted him, so familiar and yet so distant.

The yard at the Hound Pits pub, empty except for the improvised practice range sat halfway between the pub and the kennels. _The Void looks into your mind_ , the Outsider had advised him so cryptically. A memory had surfaced that morning during training with the recruits. Seeing as the Whalers were proficient with wrist bows but had to hide the fact behind an imagined lack of training, Corvo had decided to train the Watch recruits under his purview in shooting the crossbow as well. Watch guards did not usually carry pistols, only officers did, but bullets were not designed to resolve conflict without casualties. Sleep darts, however, were; and although Corvo was wary of outfitting officers of the Watch with the means to kill _silently_ , he supposed the noise of pistols hadn’t done Jessamine any good, either.

Rinaldo had been paired with Quinn, who had infamously terrible aim – for a highly trained assassin, at least – and Corvo had just passed them when Quinn had missed the targets so completely, still adjusting to the differences between his customised wrist bow and the less than basic crossbows Corvo had commissioned from the armoury, that even Rinaldo couldn’t help but let out a snort.

Corvo had walked on, not wanting to draw attention to Quinn’s blunder, but he had not gotten far before he had remembered just the scene that had greeted him, weeks later, in the Void: Corvo himself, making a face, scowling at the bolt notched in the wooden crate rather than one of the bottles they had made targets of; Daud to his left. Corvo, too, had needed time to adjust to the lightweight weapon Piero had constructed for him, and Daud – had laughed at him. Unbidden, the echo of Daud’s deep, rough laugh, the first time Corvo had ever heard it, had settled in his thoughts and pushed everything else aside. He’d walked on, then, hands clasped behind his back. Struggling with his memories; only for those memories to catch up with him in time.

For a long time, he had only stood and stared, barely believing his eyes. Had he found the key? Had he finally understood what the Outsider had been trying to tell him? He had thought of Daud when entering the Void before, had _only_ thought of Daud. But the Void was not a _place_ , it was far more than that. What he’d expected to _see_ was where the Void had taken Daud…

 _… but that was not where you needed to go_ , the Heart had finished his thoughts, jumbled as they were.

So since then, Corvo had entered the Void nearly every night. The first few times, he had found himself at the pub again, but inside different memories; some of Daud, some of the Whalers and Emily. Each night, he searched for clues, for things that were out of place or misremembered. He couldn’t bring any of those things back with him, so he had taken to keeping Void journals, jotting anything down that might help; only when he returned from the Void, his notes were often jumbled, illegible, or pages missing. The first time he’d returned and opened his notebook only to find the letters all but falling off the pages, he had almost given in and flung the thing into the fire.

Whenever he was in the Void now, he caught glimpses of Daud, just fading at the edges of a scene — disappearing round a corner, or walking through a door that Corvo couldn’t get to the other side of. Sometimes, he saw all of him, and every time he reached out only to stop himself inches away. He did not know what would happen in he interacted with these representations of the Void, nor could he fathom if his heart could take it if he touched Daud only to be met with cold, hard stone instead of the warmth of his skin.

Corvo stumbled from the painting in the hidden room before sunrise every morning without fail, then returned to his quarters to change his clothes and make himself presentable. He did not fool himself that lack of sleep didn’t make him look haggard, did not make himself believe that going every night into a realm he had no place in, without invitation, wasn’t taking its toll. He would drag his fingers through his hair, cut back from shoulder length to barely past his ears, and wonder how much longer he could keep doing this.

_As long as it takes._

He would go back to the Void. He would find a way to break past the confines of his memories. He would find Daud. And he would bring him home.

*

That night, Corvo left the Tower and made his way into the Estate District.

For the first time in months, Corvo found himself seeking the assistance of one of the Outsider’s shrines again. He emptied the satchel he’d brought with him, containing the runes he’d collected over the past few months whenever he was out in Dunwall at night, stalking the Hatters or corrupt aristocrats. He had parchment and ink, scribbled notes and copied pages from Daud’s diaries and Granny Rags’ recipe book. He was not _sure_ of what he was about to do; only that he had no choice but to try.

He arranged the runes on the shrine, tilting his head to listen more closely to their songs, laying aside those that hissed when he touched them and threatened to burn him if he didn’t. He was left with half a dozen, some grimy with the muck of the sewers he’d plucked them out of, others still flecked with the blood of those they had driven mad.

Slowly, he raised his hands, one carrying the Mark and the other — a knife.

Corvo closed his eyes and focused his intent. Whispered words in an ancient tongue he had no hope of truly comprehending.

Blood dripped onto the runes, and reality bent itself out of shape around him.

He opened his eyes. He was in the Void. And he was not alone.

 _You offered them the Bond._ The Outsider stood with his back to him, at the edge of the roof of the building the Void had mangled beyond recognition.

“I offered it to Thomas.”

_Still. Do you think it wise?_

“Is that truly your concern?”

 _Perhaps not._ For a long moment, the Outsider was silent, looking out into the Void. Then, he turned, facing Corvo. _Do you know the old Abbey?_

“Of course. It’s been quarantined since the onset of the Plague.”

_There are catacombs underneath the structure, piles of bones in a crypt that the Overseers never let anyone see, not even their own. You can find strange markings on the stone floors there, indelible. No amount of scrubbing has weakened them. Sokolov thinks they can be used to summon me._

“What can they be used for?“

 _Fellowship_. With a whisper on the wind, the Void god vanished, and Corvo came back to himself, kneeling before the shrine and bleeding. Upon the shrine, the runes were steaming with shadows.

* * *

“Hey! Black-eyed bastard!” Daud barked into the Void. “Come on!” Indeed, he did not have to wait long.

 _You called?_ the Outsider’s voice, dripping with acid, served to run a shiver down even his back.

Daud held up the single thorned rose in his hand. “I’ve got her scent now. She can’t run from me, not even in the Void.”

The Void god tilted his head. _What a good little hound you are._

Daud bared his teeth in a grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) BILLIE. BILLIE BILLIE BILLIE BILLIE BILLIE BILLIE BILLIE BILLIE BILLIE BILLIE!!! She's not back to stay, sadly, but I wanted her to be in on this. I know that Dishonored likes the narrative of Billie moping for 15 years — and she certainly does take after her dear old Da(u)d — but I feel that, if Thomas reached out to her with something like this, she'd make an effort. She's yet far away from truly wanting Daud's forgiveness.  
> b) No, I couldn’t resist sneaking the Pride and Prejudice quote in there. Not sorry.  
> c) Daud is a dumbass. We know this.  
> d) Corvo is a dumbass, too.  
> e) Curnow is warming up to the Whalers, as promised, and ho boy is he gonna flip his lid if the thing with the Arcane Bond works out.  
> f) That memory that haunts Corvo... it was a tiny, tiny thing in _It Seemed the Better Way_ , something Corvo and Daud mention as they bicker, and Daud's "I still laughed at you." would not let me go. So here we have it, Corvo fondly remembering the first time he heard Daud crack up.
> 
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/The_Hungry_Cosmos  
> http://dishonored.wikia.com/wiki/The_Isle_of_Tyvia


	7. Chapter Four — All of the Moments That We Will be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud chases. Corvo finds. The Outsider walks among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, dear friends, hold on to your hats and goggles because now... now is when we start getting into why this story was really just an excuse for me to write a Dishonored verse Orpheus and Eurydice.
> 
> The lore that I introduced in the third sneak peek in December makes its appearance here, just with more context. And suffering. If you've a mind to yell at me, you can find me on tumblr (screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse) and twitter (@grumblewhale).
> 
> Chapter soundtrack: [_The Lighthouse_ by Interpol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJRsfMklhxc&index=42&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&t=0s)

_I never took you for a detective,_ the Outsider drawled as he appeared next to Daud.

Daud, who had never put all that much stock into meditation, was perched on a low enclosure the way he would have been on a streetlamp in the Flooded District: both feet under him, one knee drawn up to his chest, the other braced for balance, ready to fly into action. Only there was no-one to wait for here, no target to step out from the shadows and into the light. Instead, Daud was watching the Leviathans as they glided past.

“There’s little difference between that and scoping out a target,” Daud informed him bluntly. The more truthful version of _that_ , of course, would have been, ‘rooting through their sock drawer.’

_Found her yet?_

Daud rolled his eyes.

“What do you _want_?“ he growled.

_Well, what are you doing, if you haven’t?_

Daud contained a frustrated sigh. It was no use, he knew.

“Listening.”

_Listening?_

“Stop playing—” dumb, he was going to say, but caught himself. “She’s here somewhere. The Void, it—changes. The Leviathans react to her presence. It’s how I found a trace of her at all.”

_And this is how you track her?_

“I would be, if there weren’t someone yapping in my ear,“ Daud rumbled. “I’ll understand what those songs mean soon enough. No thanks to you.”

_You seem to be getting on fine without my help._

“How come you found me immediately, but can’t put a pin in her?” Daud challenged him. The Outsider didn’t respond. “You weren’t even looking, were you? Not once.”

_She’s not—_

“Interesting,“ Daud guessed, but made it sound certain enough. “I wish I’d never been.”

_Be careful what you wish for, Daud. The Void watches you from within. The more you let it—_

“Go bother someone else,” Daud repeated the sentiment from what couldn’t have been too long ago, not that he had any use for clocks or calendars.

* * *

Eventually, Corvo had enough.

“What made you think asking Lurk for help was a good idea?” he asked without preamble after bidding Thomas to stay when he’d finished his report. The young man went very still, but otherwise betrayed no reaction.

“She knew Delilah,” he said, “and she warned us of Ashworth, who is by far the most experienced and capable practitioner among Delilah’s coven, aside from Delilah herself. If anyone could give us a lead, it was her.”

“She said she _stayed in touch_ ,” Corvo demanded at the lukewarm answer.

“She had a right to know what was happening,” Thomas stood his ground. “Daud was like a father to her, if he’s… gone, she deserved to know.”

“Billie betrayed her father,” Corvo growled.

“Daud let her go,” Thomas insisted, stepping forward, something more like fire in his eyes now. “You may think him a fool for that, but if he was willing to give her another chance, then so will I.”

Corvo tilted his head, barely containing his anger. “Is that all?” he asked, projecting indifference.

Hurt flitted across Thomas’ features. “I always thought you’d done something to help Daud recover a part of himself,” he said very quietly. “Now I’m wondering if he didn’t do the same for you.” Turning on his heel, Thomas didn’t wait to request permission to leave.

“Thomas!” Corvo called him back, clenching his fist underneath the desk, nails biting into skin to mask a different kind of pain.

“What?” Thomas returned, still some fight left in him, and faced him. “What now?”

“Do you trust me, Thomas?“ Corvo asked. He stood from his desk, and walked up to where Thomas was now rooted to the spot.

Thomas’ brow furrowed in confusion. “Of course,” he answered, despite the fact that there was no ‘of course’ about it, that he might have just as well called to Billie for help because he thought Corvo was losing it. And they both knew it.

Without another word, Corvo held out his left hand. Still puzzled, Thomas looked down, then back at his face.

“Corvo, what—”

“Do you trust me?“ he repeated, demonstratively looking down at his hand.

Something like understanding dawned on Thomas’ face. “Yes.” He accepted Corvo’s hand. Corvo reached for the Void.

For a moment, nothing happened, but then the Void inside him woke, raising itself like a snake ready to strike, and then he felt the cold slither through his veins, coiling in his left hand. His Mark was glowing brighter than he’d seen it before, even through the wrist strap. He willed his doubts to disappear.

Thomas tensed, then hissed, but didn’t let go, his gaze holding Corvo’s.

When it was done, Corvo let him go, and Thomas was slow to retract his hand, his eyes wide. He clenched his fist, and Corvo heard his breath hitch at what must be an incredible sensation; to have the Void returned after being without it for so long.

“How?” Thomas breathed.

“I found the ritual.” Corvo would not say more. “Thomas?” The erstwhile Whaler looked up at him eventually. Corvo nodded towards his hand, still unmarked but nevertheless the seat of his new-found powers. “You brought a traitor back to Dunwall. _This_ only works if there’s trust between us. So I suggest you count your blessings.”

Thomas straightened his back. “Yes.” He hesitated. “Master Corvo.” To Corvo’s astonishment, he performed the traditional Whalers’ greeting.

Corvo could only nod, which Thomas took as the intended dismissal. He made for the door quickly, hurriedly, but then paused in the doorway.

“I did it for him,“ he said quietly over his shoulder.

Corvo said nothing. After Thomas had closed the door behind himself, he sighed.

“I know.”

* * *

**_The Royal Protector_ **

_Throughout the ages, rulers have always faced attempts on their lives. Once in a generation the Empire is rocked by the death of a powerful political or religious figure. As such, city-states across the Isles have devised varying strategies for protecting their leaders._

_For the first time in Dunwall's history, a monarch has been_ _abducted and_ _slain by her own bodyguard. At the time of this writing, with Dunwall in the grip of the worst plague ever recorded, our fair Empress Jessamine Kaldwin has just been murdered. The deed was done by her former Royal Protector-turned assassin, Corvo Attano, who is still_ _at large in the city, hiding away in the shadows and cavorting with heretics, thieves, and murderers. It is almost certain that he has been assisted, if not guided, in this monstrous act by the assassin Daud, whose Whalers have terrorised Dunwall for more than a decade_ _. Some argue that it is worth noting that Corvo Attano is the first Royal Protector in the history of the Empire born outside of the Isle of Gristol._

 _[_ _Historical Record of Government Positions and Ranks - Addendum_ _]_

_Corvo Attano. Accused of assassinating the Empress he was sworn to protect. How unlikely he would not only overcome this shame, but then redeem himself so fully as to be named Royal Protector to yet another Empress! Those of us at the College of Histories were too fast to use pen against him!_

_Yet let us not blame historians, for the evidence against Attano was nearly overwhelming. First, he is the only Royal Protector ever to have been born of an Isle other than Gristol. His "foreignness" is not itself a crime, but added to the suspicions (the most forgiving of which was that he lacked the capacity to fully understand his duties). Second, he was caught quite red-handed,_ _running_ _with_ _the assassins hired to end the Empress’ life — whose identity has not been revealed to this day — rather than giving chase to her supposed capturers_ _. Of course, it turns out that this damning_ _“_ _evidence_ _”_ _was part of a clever plot to destroy the Empress and remove Attano from interfering with the ongoing plans of_ _Burrows’_ _conspirators!_ _The Empress died in the effort of saving her life, but it was not her Royal Protector who wielded the pistol._

 _And while I admit to publishing what are now clearly incorrect conclusions regarding Corvo Attano, I will not, as some_ _of_ _my colleagues have done, resign my position at our veritable organization. But instead, I reassert myself in the endeavor of weeding out fact from fiction to produce the most salient histories possible!_

“I suppose it’s better than when they called you murderer,” Hypatia said quietly when she set down the book, a copy having just arrived for inclusion in the Tower’s royal library. The parcel had arrived along with equipment and supplies for the lab, and she’d been kind enough to bring it upstairs, along with the shipment manifest for him to sign off on. “Even if they will never let you forget where you come from.“

Corvo should have liked to toss it out the window.

“Try this one,” he returned, handing her the second volume, thumb holding open a page for her. 

> **_Empress Jessamine Kaldwin_ **
> 
> _Many of those who lived through her reign will weep until the ends of their lives over the pale beauty with the piercing eyes, and the foul end she met at the hands of her own twisted servant and protector_ _and the assassins who corrupted him_ _._
> 
> _In her father's day, the Kaldwins were thrust in the limelight despite their distance to the throne, when the former dynasty provided no heirs. A prosperous age followed the Emperor, but his daughter would have different luck. During her short life, political intrigue and minor conflicts created cracks in the Empire, undermining unity across the Isles._
> 
> _The Rat Plague, however, was a terror for which neither Empress Kaldwin nor any other living being was prepared._
> 
> _Perhaps in retrospect other historians will see how easy it was for us to fall into the traps set by the schemers who managed the assassination of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. By allowing them to write history, it was for_ _nearly a year_ _thought that her trusted protector Corvo Attano was also her murderer. A concept we now know to be utterly false. Yet even after the tricksters themselves were put down, banished or imprisoned,_ _suspicion persisted regarding the Royal Protector, now serving dutifully as both Protector and Spymaster at the side of Jessamine Kaldwin’s daughter, Emily_ _._ _His young charge is expected to choose for him to remain in this position, as she soon turns twelve and thus reaches the age at which each new ruler is supposed to elect their own bodyguard. During those dark months when the truth remained hidden from us and the Empress, then Princess, herself was sheltered from those who would harm her by Attano and his allies, unknown but for a few names such as Curnow, Havelock, and Sokolov, it was proven that perhaps it needs not an army, but a few good men to decide the fate of an Empire._
> 
> _How nicely the_ _likes of Burrows, Timsh, and Campbell worked to_ _arrange_ _history for us, and how readily we devoured their stories, hungry for each perfectly cooked morsel. But it is well past the time for us to set aside this plate of lies. The schemers were not to be trusted with the Empire, or with Jessamine's life, and they are certainly not to be trusted with the writing down of accurate histories!_
> 
> _Of course biographies and histories of the life of our late Empress Jessamine Kaldwin are rife with speculation. The content of her relationship with her trusted protector, Corvo Attano, and the birth of her daughter Emily have excited historians of more or less dubious repute for years._ _The modern biographers ask the rude, irrelevant question of our age, as if the event of two bodies meshing together establishes the degree of love, forgetting […] how a hand held overlong or a gaze anchored in someone’s eyes could unseat a heart, and […] make the redolent air tremble and simmer with the heat of possibility._ _Is it not enough that she died protecting the citizens of her Empire from the designs of a hateful man, that he worked to avenge her fate and restore her daughter to the throne? Whether Empress Emily is indeed their child is of no consequence, except perhaps that it might strengthen our faith in what such a man would be willing to give to prevent another catastrophe from befalling us._

“I… am sorry,” Hypatia said kindly, with more grace than most others would have managed. “I always assumed… I shouldn’t have.”

“Assumed what?” Corvo asked, curious in spite of himself.

“Emily with her dark eyes and hair, she could only have been yours. And seeing you and Daud together and how you took care of Emily, I never questioned—so I thought—” she interrupted herself, shaking her head. “I apologise, Corvo, I should not speak of such private matters.”

“It’s alright. I asked,” he reminded her, wondering at himself for his gentle tone. Hypatia possessed a rare gift of putting others at ease, be they her patients or old soldiers bleeding from wounds rent in the heart.

“It must be some form of cruelty, publishing these when they’re planning to,” she interrupted his wondering, noting the stamps on the title page, embargoing the contents to be discussed publicly or for review until the 18th Day of the Month of Earth, 1839. “Three weeks. Another year gone,” she added quietly.

He shrugged. “I suppose the timing contains some symmetry that historians will find pleasing,” he answered more callously than he felt, and going by the glance she cast him, she knew it, too.

* * *

It hadn’t been Corvo’s intent to spy, but when he happened upon a group of Whalers — guards, he reminded himself — huddled together in the library, passing back and forth a book of unknown origin and casting furtive glances over their shoulders, his curiosity would not be contained. Had they uncovered something to do with the Void?

He had to be careful now, as initiating the Arcane Bond with some of them meant they were more attuned to his magic, same as they would have been to Daud. But if he moved carefully and kept his distance, perhaps…

Blinking up into the stacks, he slowly moved close enough to listen.

“Void, what is this?” Rulfio exclaimed as he gingerly passed on the volume to Galia, who handed it off to Fergus.

“Already read it,“ she grinned. “And I think it’s damn accurate. Except perhaps the bit about his _ardour_ ; I don’t believe for a moment the boss didn’t already have the hots for Attano back then.“

“Galia!”

“Don’t patronise me, Rulf! You know I’m right, you’re the one who caught them!”

“I didn’t _catch_ them, they were getting dressed. And even then, I saw too much.“

“Should we show this to Corvo?” Rinaldo asked from where he was leaning over Fergus’ shoulder.

“Fuck no!” Fergus looked up from the page, nearly head butting Rinaldo in the nose. “It’ll only make him worse.”

While Corvo had felt amusement enough at the content of their conversation up til now, Fergus’ vehement reaction caused a leaden weight to drop in his gut. What could that book _possibly_ be? Knowing they wouldn’t leave it behind, Corvo debated revealing himself, or cornering one of them later and pestering it out of them. He sighed inaudibly. Then he clenched his fist.

“Shit, Attano!”

Various startled exclamations later, Corvo watched as they settled. Standing half behind Rulfio, he held out his hand.

“Book, please.”

Looking for all the world like a group of misbehaving students having been caught passing notes by their teacher, they exchanged anxious glances before deciding there was nothing for it. Fergus handed it over, opened to the page they’d been reading.

> **_The Knife of Dunwall_ **
> 
> _Chapter 3_
> 
> _Daud stared out at the river. The plan had gone miserably wrong — and there he’d been, at the start, thinking for a fleeting moment, ‘This is too easy.’ And perhaps it had been. But now it was over even as something else was just beginning, he felt hollow, and there was nothing in the world that could fill him again. He knew it with a certainty that scared him._
> 
> _Billie called from the next room. “Boss?”_
> 
> _“Not now.” He went over and closed the door on the way towards the desk before she could say anything else. He trusted her more than any of them, but he didn’t feel like talking. Not to her._
> 
> _Not to Attano._
> 
> _There was no blood to clean from his blade today, no marks to study as it seeped into the cloth he used. If he’d made a different decision, it’d have been royal blood, and it would have looked the same as any he’d seen before. The high and mighty were supposed to be filled with something different, something better, he’d once thought, but he’d killed enough of them to know that that wasn’t true._
> 
> _Jessamine Kaldwin was dead, but not by his hands, nor by his will. He had failed her._
> 
> _Daud was tired. No amount of blood could change that. It would not help to get drunk, rarely as he had enough to truly impair his faculties; nor did he seek solace in the arms of another. Sex with strangers had never interested him, and there was no-one in his life he cared for enough to ignite his ardour. He felt a kind of exhaustion that couldn’t be soothed away, not even by strong, calloused hands that he knew far too well after weeks of training together when time allowed. He almost smiled. The Knife of Dunwall, exhausted. And yet something else._
> 
> _He’d made a mistake, he’d been misled. That kind of thinking was useless. Faced with the choice, he’d seen himself for what he really was. Not a renowned assassin, not some great shaper of history. Just another playing piece in an unknowable game. And so, he’d done what no assassin ever should. He’d taken a side. He should have known better than to enter into such an arrangement — an arrangement that resulted in the death of one and the shame of another._
> 
> _He’d been with Jessamine Kaldwin the moment her life slipped away, as her death hollowed out the heart of the other man always by her side. Their Empress was gone, and so it fell to them to execute the remainder of their plan without her. Avenge one Empress, and raise another. Clear Corvo’s name and excise his own from history._

“What is this?“ he echoed Rulfio’s sentiment from before. He turned over the cover and examined it, but of course it had been published anonymously. “Who wrote this?“

Galia shrugged, managing to look apologetic enough considering her earlier delight. “No idea, boss. Wasn’t one of us that did it,” she defended when he narrowed his eyes at her. “There’s always those penny novels floating around, I swear I read one about you and the Empress once—”

She slapped Rulfio’s knee when he shushed her.

“With the rumours being circulated after we… went into hiding,” Rinaldo took over, “it’s no wonder someone would try their hand at explaining how the Knife of Dunwall was suddenly taken to be friends with the Royal Protector. And then you kept our involvement a secret after your return to the Tower, and while no-one in Parliament will ever dare to question it, it doesn’t stop everyone else.”

“There’s all sorts of stories about us and Daud,“ Fergus added. “I read one a while ago that said we blew up the Rothwild Slaughterhouse? Bollocks, but someone wrote it and got paid for it, so it must be true.”

Without wanting, Corvo’s eyes strayed back over the page, the words mocking him. Mocking _them_.

“It’s not real, Corvo. It’s just someone’s fantasy,” Rulfio said, not unkindly.

Without a word, Corvo closed the book, refusing to turn the page and read any more of it, and handed it back. Then he turned on his heel, his coat billowing obligingly with the movement, and made to leave the library, leaving them to their own assumptions.

 _It was real_ , he thought. _I loved him, and it was real_.

* * *

_Please, Corvo_ , the Heart pleaded with him. _Just accept His help for what it is, if it is freely given—_

“The Outsider doesn’t ‘give,’” Corvo interrupted her, impatience getting the better of him. He sighed, rubbed fingers over his brow. “I’m sorry, Jessamine, that was uncalled for. I just—I cannot accept His help. I cannot be indebted to Him, or the Void. I have to find Daud on my own.”

 _And how will you do that, searching it inch by inch every night until you barely sleep?_ She demanded.

Corvo sat down on the cold ground, leaning his head in his free hand. It was the most upset he’d known the Heart to be in all this time. This was taking a toll on her, too, and not for the first time Corvo hated himself for being so selfish.

 _Oh stop, it’s not all about you,_ the Heart fairly snapped.

Amused despite himself, Corvo raised his head and cocked a brow at the Heart. If she were here, in the flesh, she’d have her arms crossed, her hip canted to the right, and a scowl on her face to rival one of his own.

“What’s wrong?“ he asked, calmly as he could.

 _You’re being stubborn_ , came the prompt reply.

“Jess,” he pleaded gently. “Tell me what’s going on.” So many things that could be — her connection to the Void might be fading, or perhaps the Heart was disintegrating from within, or perhaps… perhaps her spirit was ready to move on. “If you need to let go, just tell me.”

_I told you, Corvo. As long as you and Emily need me, I will be there to guide you._

“It might not be your choice.”

 _It will be for as long as I can make it,_ the Heart whispered, and Corvo closed his eyes, his own heart aching.

“I do not deserve you,” he whispered in return.

_And yet, you have me. Just as you have… him._

“I don’t deserve him, either, and still I’m looking for him,” Corvo attempted a turn at levity with a self-deprecating shrug. Then, he paused. “Jess, is this about Daud? Is something—do you sense something? Is he in danger?” What if Delilah had found him, or all things being equal, what if _he_ had found Delilah—

_Please let the Outsider guide you. I—I’m so sorry, but I can’t…_

“It’s alright,“ he soothed. “You were looking for him, weren’t you?”

_Yes._

“You never said, but I… I thought you might. Jess, please, it’s not—we will find him.“

But they didn’t. Not that night, and not the next. The Outsider stayed away.

* * *

“Corvo, look! Anton fitted the lock. He did it himself, he insisted!” Emily pulled him towards her new chambers by the hand. In the right corner of the room, an unassuming adornment barely stood out from the wooden panels. The hidden door led to the safe room they’d constructed, hidden in the foundations of the throne room and Emily’s apartments and library above. The safe room had three exists: to another, smallish corridor leading out of the Tower and above the roofs of Dunwall’s streets; the door to Emily’s bedroom; and the third opened into a steep, tiny winding staircase that was connected to Jessamine’s own secret chamber. Sokolov was fitting it with a replica of this same secret lock today; and while Corvo had had misgivings about letting him see the chamber, he knew it was the best means of keeping it safe — keeping Emily safe.

The locks could only be opened with a special sort of key: a signet ring bearing Emily’s imperial seal. They had commissioned three, from Piero instead of the royal jeweller. Piero had protested that they didn’t have to have one made for Emily to wear when she was an adult _now_ , they could hold on to the plans and he would be happy to make it for her when she came of age. Corvo had clasped his shoulder and told him not to make promises about a day six years hence, for all their sakes, and Piero, thus suitably distracted, had conceded the point. Emily wore her ring from that day on, Corvo carrying his on a chain around his neck, and the third sat in the hidden drawer of Corvo’s desk, unassuming and waiting for the day its rightful owner came to claim it.

The construction work on the Tower was almost completed, with Emily’s rooms fully furnished and the throne room only days away from finished. When the builders’ foreman informed Corvo that they would be ready by the 18th Day, Month of Earth, Corvo worked hard not to snap and growl and ask him if that was his idea of a practical joke. Instead, he nodded and thanked him, turned away and pretended to watch the construction workers do their jobs; but his eyes were unseeing.

Of course that would be the day. _Symmetry_ , Corvo mocked himself in the privacy of his thoughts.

*

**_DUNWALL COURIER_ **

_18_ _ th _ _Day, Month of Earth 1839_

**_Second Anniversary of the Death of our Late Empress, Jessamine Kaldwin_ **

_Today marks the passing of the second year since the assassination of our fair Empress Jessamine Kaldwin. Last year, there was a ceremony held at Dunwall Tower, with dignitaries and citizens of the upper echelons all flocking to the Tower to pay their condolences and respects to the new Empress. This year, as indeed most years, there will be no public memorial, as decreed by the late Empress herself in her will. Her father had once made the same request: that, upon his death, there would be a public funeral and a ceremony to mark the first year of his passing, and that from then on, his daughter would decide when to unite the Empire in another such occasion. It is expected, then, that Empress Emily will call Dunwall’s citizens back to mourn her dear mother in another three years_ _from now_ _, then again in eight, then thirteen. This year, then, the Empress has asked to be allowed to spend this day of mourning in peace. The banners of Dunwall Tower will be lowered, and no visitors be admitted._

 _Coincidentally, workers have only_ _just_ _concluded the most extensive construction project that Dunwall Tower has seen in decades, certainly this century. A throne room has been erected upon the roof, providing but also limiting access to the seat of power directly. The royal apartments have been extended also, with living quarters said to belong to Empress Emily Kaldwin herself sat atop the throne room. In deference to the Empress’ live-in scientists — Anton Sokolov, Piero Joplin, and their protégé Alexandria Hypatia, all three instrumental in creating the Rat Plague cure that has seen Dunwall improve so rapidly in recent months — the imperial library has moved up a floor and been expanded by what most likely amounts to several_ _feet_ _of shelf space._

 _Since the abduction and subsequent assassination of her mother Jessamine, street access to the Tower has been restricted, and will likely continue to be closely monitored by the City Watch. The Tower grounds are supposed to be reopened to the public within the year, a spokesperson for Dunwall Parliament has recently revealed to journalists; and audiences with the Empress are to become a fixture of Dunwall politics as well. Before the Plague, both Emperor Euhorn and Empress Jessamine welcomed citizens and representatives at Dunwall Tower, and it is said that Empress Emily_ _I_ _aims to follow in their footsteps. At the moment, all requests for a personal audience with the Empress must be addressed to her Royal Protector,_ _Lord_ _Corvo Attano, who will personally_ _handle_ _most of the meetings that arise from these requests. Understandable as long as the Empress is so young, but soon the throne will have to open itself fully to the demands of its public._

*

The day itself was quiet. With no ceremony to endure, Emily’s classes suspended for this one day, and Corvo’s own duties put on hold except for the bare necessities of receiving reports and sorting through the intelligence brought to him by his agents as well as off-duty Watch officers, they were remarkably free to do whatever they wanted. It was a pity, then, that the day didn’t invite them to do much of anything.

Emily, Corvo, and many of the Whalers spent the day together; making liberal use of the argument that, on such a day, more rather than fewer guards watching over the Empress were called for. It wasn’t anyone else’s business, then, that the Whalers currently occupying Corvo’s quarters were either lounging on the furniture or sitting on the floor with Emily, throwing in suggestions of things or people for her to draw.

Corvo shook his head at himself. No matter what happened, he could never stop calling them Whalers, even now that they hadn’t worn their old leather uniforms in months, let alone their masks. He was reasonably sure that none of the people assembled here now would wish to return to the lives they had once led, nor to the one they had been given by Daud; not as killers, anyway. Spies, perhaps. As it was, they did some spying for him now, in their spare time, little as they had of it. They were still experimenting with the powers they had received from Corvo, just as he was still becoming used to the sensation of sharing them. Nothing Daud had explained to him about it could have prepared him for the intrusiveness of the connection; growing with each Whaler who accepted the Bond from him.

It hadn’t worked for all of them. Rulfio, for instance, had not regained his abilities, much to his (and Rinaldo’s) dismay. There’d been hurt on his face the day they’d tried, and some manner of longing for something once known and now lost.

“I’m sorry, Corvo,” he’d said, their hands still clasped, and Corvo had simply nodded.

“Daud couldn’t control it, and neither can we,“ Corvo had reassured him. He may have told Thomas that it needed trust to form the Bond, and that was true, but he knew that it wasn’t Rulfio’s faith in him — nor his in Rulfio — that was lacking. It simply wouldn’t work; and perhaps Corvo was a little proud of Rulfio’s unfaltering commitment to his former master.

Hobson, on the other hand, had nearly shrieked in terror when the Void had touched him. His eyes wide, he’d stared at Corvo. “But sir, I don’t—it never—Master Daud always said just to work on my footwork and not worry about—”

“It’s working now,” Corvo had interrupted his rambling, not unkindly, and let him go. “We’ll need to talk about lessons for you, then.”

In fact, they had needed to talk about lessons for all of them, as Corvo’s powers behaved differently from Daud’s, and he had no desire to see any of them plummeting to their deaths because of it. Corvo had had to clear this with Curnow, too. His duties to keep the Captain informed, if he wanted to improve the Crown’s relationship with the Watch, had eventually outweighed his misgivings. Curnow was no fool — he’d known of the powers the Whalers had once wielded at Daud’s behest. Corvo had never confirmed it outright, but Curnow could not have been blind to him possessing the same magic. When he’d told him, then, Curnow’s face had betrayed some manner of resignation first and foremost.

“So what now,” he’D questioned, “they can fly?”

And that had been that.

In the weeks following, then, Corvo had divided his time between the Void and Dunwall’s rooftops, leading the Whalers in merry chases across slippery shingles, making sure they learnt the range of their abilities as well as their limitations. On one such night, he had stood, looking out across the Wrenhaven, the moon reflected in its rippling surface, Whalers breathing heavily behind him, and Corvo had closed his eyes. He could _feel_ it, right at the edge of the power that lived inside him. It shouldn’t have been him, standing here. Corvo Attano, leading the Whalers, or what was left of them. It felt wrong. It all felt wrong.

In his study now, the Whalers were content enough to keep them company; and Corvo and Emily were content to let the day pass by. They had visited Jessamine’s tombstone early that morning, alone, whispering secrets that the wind had carried away for safekeeping. When left to their own devices, the Whalers tended to do as most units of soldiers, guards, or officers did — play cards, tell bawdy jokes, write letters to recipients unknown. Corvo never saw Thomas writing any of those letters, but he knew well enough that he sent them, and he didn’t dissuade him.

*

When the day was done, Corvo escorted Emily up into her new quarters, the Whalers trailing behind them, taking up stations along the way to guard their Empress. Down the long hallway, leaving the door to what was now her classroom and would one day be her own study unattended, Corvo held open the door for her. Bathroom to the right, closet down the hall, Emily had chosen her bedroom to have a view of the river and the docks, the Dunwall skyline in the distance. A familiar sight, and a comforting one.

“Will you go into the Void tonight?” Emily asked as she sat down, pulling her legs up underneath her without taking off her shoes. Corvo stepped over to sit next to her on the edge of the bed, lightly tapping the side of her boot with his finger, making her grin. While she took off her footwear to reflect the manners Callista had laboured so long to instil in her, Corvo mulled over how much he could tell her.

“I will,” he began. “I’ve been… searching, but I still can’t go very far. It’s a lonely place, and cold.”

“I want to see it one day,” Emily said, determination plain as day, letting her boots clatter to the floor.

“No,” Corvo said quietly. “No, you don’t.”

“But—”

“Please, Em,” Corvo stopped her before she could pick up steam. Her shoulders dropped and he reached over to gently brush a strand of her hair that had escaped the band back behind her ear. “Please let there be things that I don’t have to worry about you doing, or knowing. There is already so much I couldn’t protect you from.” And this Mark on his hand was one he could not bear to add to the list.

“It makes you strong, doesn’t it. Strong _er_ ,” Emily insisted.

“Yes, it does,” he admitted.

“Would—would you and Daud have done what you did without it?” she asked, and her eyes were apologetic even as she did not spare him the question, nor the underlying doubt. And perhaps the question _was_ unfair, but he knew it needed asking. Especially now. Would they have _succeeded_ , without their powers?

“We would have tried.” Was that all he could say? “We might have failed, but we would have tried.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment, looking down at her stockinged feet.

“I miss Mommy,” she murmured eventually.

“I know,” he said and raised his arm; an offer she accepted as she scooted closer and cuddled into his side. “I miss her, too.”

Another pause. “Do you miss Daud?”

Corvo swallowed. “Of course I do.“

He felt her nod. “Me, too.”

* * *

They’d had word from Lurk.

She’d sent Ternion along with a pouch of documents. The boy had known better than to waltz into the Tower, scrap that he was, and had instead found the gnarliest-looking guard he possibly could have — who had just happened to be Quinn — and told him he had something the Royal Protector needed to see.

What Corvo needed to see, then, extended to sheafs of notes in witches’ writing, not the same as Delilah’s but similar enough, some of it translated into the common tongue (by Lurk, he supposed), some into Old Serkonan, the ink so faded the translations had to be decades old. Then there were notes and observations on the Void — strange tales, all told, of creatures made of stone and an all-seeing Eye. Useless, Corvo thought, except Billie had included a note that the people she’d taken them off of weren’t the sort of people driven mad and into ruin by runes or bone charms, but ‘rich folk’ with some influence. He set those aside for now. Local myths abounded in Serkonos, more persistently than in Gristol. Corvo remembered many of those tales from his childhood. The Knocker at the Window, The Moth King, The Old Sea Beast, The Haunted Cliffs of Cullero, The Dawn Patrol… Some of them were connected to the Void, others were beholden to nothing but their own monstrosity.

Truth be told, Billie’s findings didn’t hold the key to unlocking either Delilah’s secrets nor the ritual itself. Corvo and the Whalers, persistent though they all were, were no closer to deciphering the original rune work or the underlying spells Delilah had used to create the paintings — all of which were things they needed to understand before even attempting a reversal. Corvo feared for what might happen if he found Daud soon, only to have to tell him it might yet be years until the mystery was solved.

He feared that Daud might tell him not to bother.

Often, Corvo wondered what the Void might do to those it imprisoned; the restless spirits who were bound for all eternity. Were they caught in the suffering of their own lives, forced to relive every painful memory as time ran through their fingers? And what of those now who were not truly dead but yet caught. What was the Void doing to Daud, to Delilah, if one wanted to regard her with compassion? What _could_ it do? And what if what it _wanted_ was to take away their will to live?

Corvo hadn’t informed Emily of his meeting with the newly named Meagan Foster, and he didn’t know that he should. He had accepted her demand that Daud never be told, and he wasn’t sure it was wise to tell Emily now. She supported his efforts of entering the Void even if she feared the toll on him; but he was not sure her gratitude would extend to Billie. Emily was gentle and forgiving, perhaps too much so, but Corvo had seen the determination with which she took on the training challenges he set for her — and met every single one. She was as fast as he told her to be, jumped as high and threw as far, and even with as little time as they had to squeeze training sessions into her tutoring schedule, he could tell that she would grow into a fighter. Her long limbs still looked coltish, just like his had at that age, but where he’d been scrawny and underfed, she had the advantage of an Empress’ diet helping her along as she grew. She had wheedled much of his childhood out of him by now — had read about him winning the Blade Verbena, too.

“Sixteen, Corvo!” she’d exclaimed when he’d resisted her questions at first; and he’d seen it in her eyes. The same eagerness he’d known had been in his own, only paired with a healthy dose of desperation in his case. There was some of that in her, too; to escape from the restricting life they led, albeit in different ways. Corvo had needed that trophy to get out of Karnaca, out of Batista. Emily needed these lessons to feel like more than a sheltered princess, to feel _safe_ in her own skin. And Corvo knew her well enough to see that she was wondering how far she might get in her own training until sixteen, and if she’d ever be a match for him. For the Blade Verbena. She was turning twelve soon — more than enough time.

* * *

_Corvo, you need to rest_.

“I’m so close,” Corvo said through gritted teeth. “I can feel the Void shifting. It’s changing every time I come through now, it’s—it’s letting me in.“

 _Or it’s fooling you_ , the Heart warned him. _The Void does not love you, Corvo, even if the Outsider does._

Corvo scoffed. “Again with that, and from you. Daud was always on about me being His ‘favourite.’”

 _You are_ , Jess told him bluntly. _But that will not save you if you go on like this._

Corvo stood, stock-still, in the middle of this new part of the Void. The remnants of the old Abbey were strewn across the firmament here. “This is recent,“ he said, murmuring to himself more than speaking to the Heart. “This was when I performed the ritual for the Arcane Bond.” Usually, the Void showed him scenes and representations from over a year ago, certainly from before losing Daud. “This means something.“

And if all it meant was that he was slowly turning his mind over to the Void?

He could hear the soft song of the leviathans in the deep, floating above. He was used to it by now. Sometimes, he heard it in his dreams. There were no stars in the sky here. There was no sky.

Sometimes, he heard Daud’s voice in his dreams, too. Far away, echoing, speaking words he’d never heard him say. If Corvo had the grace to kneel before a god he did not believe in, a god who did not _want_ worship, he’d have begged for deliverance.

But he did not beg. Not of him. Not of the Void. Here, at the end of all things, at the end of _hope_ , he would not sully himself with weakness. He'd lost someone he loved. Again. Only this time, to something he had to believe could be less unforgiving than a bullet. Perhaps this time, the Void would give something back.

He let his head drop forward, the Heart still in his hand. He listened. His heart beat slow in his chest. Magic was intent. Intent was focus.

 _“Breathe, Attano,” Daud’s voice was closer now. “Don’t chase it.”_ The first time they’d trained.

 _“It's what I promised.”_ The first time they’d kissed, and so many times after that.

_… got her scent now… can’t run from me… not even in the Void._

Corvo opened his eyes. He could barely breathe, feeling as though water were filling up his lungs, and his hand… still holding the Heart, he lifted it to see the Mark; it was glowing so brightly he could barely look at it directly.

 _Corvo?_ Jess asked, barely audible. He moved to hold the Heart in his right instead of his left, and clenched his fist. It was as though a part of him had wrenched itself free; and he felt… he felt…

“I feel the Bond again,” he whispered. “Daud.”

_Where is he?_

“I don’t know. But I can find him now. I can—I can find—“ Corvo started forward, blindly, across the stone, until he got close enough to the edge of the scene that all his instincts screamed at him to stop.

 _Corvo!_ the Heart cried in warning, but he didn’t yield.

He stepped into nothing, and the ground came up to meet him.

Before his eyes, the Void changed, and raised itself to make way. Behind him, the remnants of the old Abbey crumbled, falling away; but in front of him lay a stretch of road, one he knew very well. The road to Rudshore — before the flood. Corvo took a deep breath, tucked the Heart back into his coat to shield it.

He had no idea where he was supposed to go, so he would do as he’d always done. Follow his feet.

*

“Something’s wrong,” Daud told the Outsider abruptly. He’d been tracking Delilah, following her across the Void; the Outsider, for some reason, trailing along and complaining uncharacteristically little. The Outsider floated closer, hovering at his shoulder. Daud raised a hand to his own chest, laying it flat and pressing down when everything went tight and cold, as though suddenly he had rocks for lungs.

“I can’t breathe,” he rasped. “What did you do?”

 _I didn’t do anything_ , came the insolent reply. _You’re already stuck here, what use would I be getting out of making you panic?_

“I’m not _panicking_ ,” Daud shot back. “And with you it’s not about use, it’s about amusement.”

 _Well I’m getting neither_ , the Outsider snapped. _What’s wrong?_

“My Mark, it’s been… tingling. Stinging,” he corrected. “And now I can’t breathe, when there is _nothing here to panic over_.”

 _In my experience with humans, there’s always_ _something_.

Daud desperately wanted to tell him to stuff it, but his breath was coming short and he didn’t manage more than a glare. Whatever it was that was sending him into a tailspin, it was getting worse, drawing closer. Could it be Delilah? Had she cottoned on, had she realised that she wasn’t the only one growing more attuned to the Void the longer they were here? Daud was learning, too.

He looked around, but the Void gave nothing away. He contemplated drawing his sword, but what good was that if he could barely force air into his lungs? He would just have to wait. Beside him, the Outsider looked vaguely… interested.

“Don’t say it,” he growled. The Outsider shrugged.

It couldn’t be long now, and Daud just hoped that whatever it was, it would grant him a swift end, if that was what it had come to. His chest was aching, and his left hand throbbing as though the Mark were a heretic’s brand and he’d just been stamped.

 _Not long now_ , the Outsider said softly, and Daud would have gladly spent his last breath asking him what the _fuck_ he thought he was doing, when—

“Daud.”

He froze. That voice—no. No. This couldn’t be. _Don’t turn around_ , he told himself. If he didn’t look, it might go away.

“Daud, I know it’s you. Please, I—I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”

Slowly, Daud turned. Eyes fixed on Corvo, he took in his haggard expression, the shadows under his eyes—

“Are you dead?“ he asked. Without waiting for Corvo to reply, he advanced on him. Eyes wide, Corvo shook his head. “No?” Daud stopped just in front of him, staring him down. “Then why are you here?” 

“To find a way,” Corvo said, reaching out to touch him now; his eyes so dark and warm and aching. “Daud, I—”

“No,” Daud shook his head and wrenched himself away. “You can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Corvo asked softly, and Daud could imagine so many answers to that question, one more painful than the other. _Can’t rescue me. Can’t save me. And Void, you cannot love me._ “I’m not just going to leave you here.”

Anger surged inside him. Anger at himself, at Corvo, at the Outsider, and even at Jessamine; for taking the meaning of his actions and stepping over them like so much litter in the streets. “And that’s your decision, is it? Why are you here, Corvo? For me? Or for your own guilty conscience?”

Hurt slammed into Corvo so suddenly that Daud could see it in his eyes. He clamped his jaw shut to stop himself from taking it back, from apologising, from telling him how much he’d missed him— _stop_ , he commanded himself. He should send Corvo away, he knew, should give them both time to _think_. This was happening too fast and all at once. _This_ being an argument Daud had never intended for them to have. Righteousness drained from him, leaving only exhaustion behind.

“Have you ever stopped to think that this might be the better way?” Daud asked quietly, his gaze holding Corvo’s.

Corvo shook his head. “No.” And before Daud could say anything else, Corvo stepped forward, coming to a halt only inches away. “No,” he breathed.

Daud shut his eyes, being so close nigh unbearable. “I can’t.”

Behind them, the Outsider, for once forgotten and ignored, melted into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) BABIIIIIEEEEES.  
> b) Yep, Hypatia ships the Royal OT3.  
> c) Daud: Did you get yourself killed chasing me, you [redacted]???  
> d) https://www.behance.net/gallery/50348625/Serkonan-Legends — I LOVE THIS ART.  
> e) oh hey reference to the title of the first story aaaahhh


	8. Chapter Five — You Know Who I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo and Daud find themselves at an impasse. The Outsider sees fit to break it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AY AY AY WE'RE BACK FRIENDS.
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who flipped a) their shit and b) tables at last week's revelations!! <3 <3
> 
> This week's soundtrack: [Running Up That Hill (Placebo).](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIJ8DogiIiw&t=2s&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=43)
> 
> I apologise in advance for the long-ass end note :D

“I’ve been looking for you for so long,” Corvo murmured. He had barely dared to reach out, but his hands were on Daud’s waist now, holding him to him as carefully as he could. He was still the same, but dressed down to the bare necessities; his coat and belts gone. But he was still the severe, steadfast man Corvo had known him to be.

“You shouldn’t have,” Daud rasped. Corvo could feel him tense, knew that he might push away at any moment, leaving Corvo cold and aching.

“What else could I have done? Knowing that there was a chance—”

“A chance I didn’t _want_ ,” Daud growled, and there it was. He drew away from him, taking a few steps back that may as well have taken him across the Void. “I can never leave here, Corvo. And you can’t keep trespassing. Emily needs you by her side, not in this place, chasing ghosts.”

“You are not a ghost!“ Corvo knew it was useless to blame Daud for being stubborn when so often that had been the only thing keeping him alive during the past twenty years, but he had come too far, taken too many risks, to keep his frustration — at finding his fears confirmed — in check anymore. “You are trapped here, and any trap can be unlocked.”

“Corvo,” Daud groaned, raising his hands and pressing them to his brow as if to ward off a headache, shocking Corvo a little with how expressive the gesture truly was, even more so from a man so contained, so disciplined and reserved. It was then, too, that Corvo realised that Daud wasn’t wearing his gloves, his Mark standing out so clear on his skin as it did on Corvo’s own.

“I’ll find a way,” Corvo repeated, willing the words to take hold in Daud’s soul as they had in his own. This was _his_ promise.

Daud shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. You won’t, and you need to stop looking.”

Corvo fought down the mounting despair clawing its way up his spine, the desperate words, the urge to beg and plead following in its wake, and with it the outrage at being given _orders_.

“I can’t do that. Now now,“ he said, barely controlling his voice and yet feeling nothing but defeat. “I can’t leave you here, you can’t—you can’t expect me to leave you here.”

Daud rounded on him then. “And if I told you that that’s what you needed to do? To keep Emily safe, to keep Dunwall safe? We have no way of knowing what might happen if the ritual were reversed, what Delilah might be able to do. No. If I stay, so will she.”

“Don’t do that,” Corvo shook his head, “don’t make me choose—”

“It’s not a choice, Attano.” Daud’s eyes were clear and cold. “You have an Empress to protect. I would have thought that that took precedent over everything.”

Something cold and sharp drove into Corvo’s heart. “You’re being cruel to make me leave you,” he said, willing it to be true as much as knowing it. “But long ago, you made a promise of your own, and you kept it. The night you disappeared, I held my daughter in my arms as she wept, and I promised _her_ that I would bring you back to us. You’re right: it is not a _choice_.”

Daud said nothing, face like stone and eyes fixed on his, and as if on cue, the Void stirred around them, and in the distance Corvo could see the portal he had come through, shifting closer. It was time for him to return. He knew better than to ask Daud to come with him now, to return through the same portal — if that was possible. He hadn’t even asked.

“I will come back for you,” Corvo vowed. Tearing himself away before could let himself do something foolish, he blinked across the Void.

Once through the painting, he collapsed on the floor of the hidden room, fighting for breath and choking on a sob. Slowly, his entire body aching, he picked himself up. He left the room and locked it, then half-blinked, half dragged himself towards his quarters. The sun was rising. He’d been away for far too long.

With trembling hands, he took the Heart from his pocket. It was cold to the touch, his long presences in the Void affecting it as well.

“He sent me away, Jess.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Finally, the shard began to glow and she spoke.

_I know._

“I don’t want to fight him. I don’t… I don’t know if I can.”

_I know, my love. I know._

* * *

**Corvo Attano’s personal diary**

15th Day, Month of Harvest, 1839

_I found him. By the Void, I found him._

_I came back that morning, half gone from exhaustion. I remember sitting down at my desk and putting my head in my hands, willing myself not to give in to tears. What good was weeping now, when I’d finally found him?_

_I summoned Rinaldo, a new sensation that I am still not used to. He cannot answer these summons immediately as he did with Daud, of course, but it was reassuring to learn that he and the Whalers used to do so out of deference and the need for quick reactions, not because the magic compelled him. Calling for him now, the Void inside him answers, and he can make his way up to where he knows to find me as soon as he is able._

_That morning, it took but a few minutes for him to arrive. He looked anxious, even more so when he saw the state of me. Despite his words to me at the pub over a year ago, we have settled into a simple sort of comradeship. His duty to take care of Emily overrides everything else, as does mine, and in this we have found enough common ground for him to forgive me for the loss of his master._

_‘I’ve found him,’ I told him. ‘I know where he is, and I can find him again.’_

_I told Rinaldo, I told Galia, Thomas, and Rulfio when they returned from watch, I told every Whaler I could find and speak to for a moment, alone._

_I told Emily._

_She flung her arms around me, and I barely dared to remind her that this was only the beginning of the road yet to travel. To reversing the ritual… to convincing Daud to return. I repeated to her only the bare bones of what he’d said to me, wanting to spare her the pain of his refusal._

_I know that they’re all half-convinced I hallucinated all of it, that the Void was playing a cruel trick on me. But I know it was real. There’s hope for me again._

* * *

“We’ve finally translated more of Delilah’s ritual notes,” Corvo announced when he next set foot into the Void. Ahead of him, Daud stopped in his tracks, his fist still raised, his Mark incandescent. It was always brighter here, so close to the well.

“I told you not to come back.”

“And I told you I would.“ Corvo watched as Daud shook his head — resigned, angry, disappointed — and turned around to face him.

“What’s it going to take, Corvo? For you to leave me alone?“ Daud’s voice rang true and his words cut deep.

“Why are you so angry with me?” Corvo demanded.

Daud _snarled_. “What did you expect? For you to find me, turn up out of nothing, and for me to leap into your arms? You’re wasting your time trying to get me out of a mess of my own making. Undoing what I caused was always going to be the hardest trick, but I did it. And now, you go and risk your life to find me, risk leaving Emily to fend for herself! No-one is worth that risk, Corvo, least of all someone like me.”

Corvo could only stare at him. “I can’t tell if you’re furious because I found you, or that I can’t seem to hate you half as much as you do yourself,” he volleyed back, even as the realisation that Daud’s anger seemed to rest in Emily’s safety made something heavy settle in his chest.

Daud scoffed. “Don’t condescend. And how long do you want to come back here, telling me you’ve translated some of Delilah’s notes, or found another clue? How much longer am I supposed to live with this illusion?“

“If it were me, if I were trapped here and you knew there was even just a slight chance of getting me out, would you do what you’re asking of me now? Would you walk away?” Corvo had to make him see reason somehow — and if it couldn’t be called reason, then he was happy to call it _need_.

”That’s different.”

“How is that different?“

Daud looked at him square. “Emily needs you,” he said as though he’d read Corvo’s mind; as though his own refusal to believe he was needed were par for the course. There was no challenge in his eyes, only certainty. Corvo’s blood ran cold.

“Is that—is that all you have to say?“

Daud had the gall to shrug. “What else is there?“

“What about the Whalers? So many of them stayed when I asked, for you!”

“They know better than to let grief get the best of them. It’ll fade.“

“And Emily? She misses you, and not once has she suggested I stop searching. She draws pictures of you and the Whalers to give to you when you return, and keeps them with her drawings of me and Jessamine that no-one is supposed to see. So don’t you _dare_ tell me that she does not need you.” Corvo had to fight not to raise his voice now, his temper rising at Daud’s dismissal of the people who loved him.

“You should know better than to let her believe in that,” Daud growled, slicing the air with a wave of his hand. “She’s young, she’ll forget me.”

“So you expect me to do the same?”

Daud nodded, but he wouldn’t look him in the eye. Corvo seized upon this as he would upon an opening in his stance when they sparred.

“How can you ask this of me? After everything we’ve been through—”

“What we’ve been through is done, Corvo,” Daud suddenly barked. “We did what we set out to do. We stopped Burrows, we stopped Delilah. Who we were — the Knife of Dunwall, the Masked Felon — can finally fade into the shadows. You can take off your mask, and I… I can finally lay down my sword. It’s all I wanted after Brigmore. And I got my wish.”

*

The hurt on Corvo’s face cut into Daud’s own heart. “You don’t want… you were never coming back, were you. To Dunwall, after travelling the Isles. You never meant to return.”

Daud sighed and wanted to tear at his hair. “That’s not true. I told you, I didn’t know what to do then.“

Corvo took a step closer to him at that, and his face was so damned _earnest_. “How could you not—”

“I didn’t know whether I should,“ Daud admitted, gritting his teeth against the words that threatened to spill out, knowing that was a fight he could not win, not with Corvo looking at him like that. “Whether you would… wish me to.”

“I told you I wished you could stay!”

“It would have been a bad idea,” Daud evaded.

Corvo growled in frustration, and it sent a shudder through Daud he was ill-equipped to conceal. “And what did you want?”

“Corvo—”

“No. For once in your life, Daud, don’t tell me the odds. Tell me what you _want_.”

There were too many answers to that, too; and none of them had a place in the Void. What he’d done, who he’d loved, in his life, it didn’t matter here. He was here because he’d done just one thing right. He’d be damned to undo it now, because his traitorous heart cried out for a better man than he could ever be.

“I made a choice. Why won’t you accept it?”

“Daud—”

“Don’t you see it’s hopeless,” Daud interrupted him, willing him to see the _cost_ of what they were doing. “Corvo, if you’ve any compassion, no more talk of saving me.”

Corvo, stubborn and pleading, shook his head. “Please don’t make me.”

Daud should have told him — begged of him — never to return right then. He opened his mouth, drew breath. The words wouldn’t come, and so he did not speak.

* * *

One morning soon after, Corvo dragged himself out of bed with a pounding headache and running a low fever. He needed no doctor to tell him that, and yet Callista took one look at him after delivering Emily to his quarters and sent Rinaldo to fetch Hypatia.

“I’m fine,” he told her, and meant it, but she wouldn’t have it and Emily, it seemed, was getting better and better at her own version of her governess’ most disapproving look.

Hypatia arrived quickly, not even showing the slightest surprise. She examined Corvo swiftly and efficiently, and pronounced him fit for light duty.

“I am the Empress’ bodyguard,” he growled, “there _is_ no light duty.”

Hypatia fixed him with a look. “The fact that you’re speaking to me like that speaks for itself, _Lord Protector_.”

Corvo didn’t have enough shame in him to apologise.

His ‘condition’ worsened throughout the week, until by the end of it he was sick with a cough and congested lungs.

“I can’t be seen begging off sick,” Corvo argued when Hypatia urged him to take a few days’ rest.

‘You can’t be seen _dead_ ’ — was what Daud would have barked at him now, and Corvo clenched his fist against the voice in his head. _It was only in his head_.

Hypatia, instead, suggested Rinaldo take his place at the Empress’ side that day, as there were no meetings or council sessions, no public appearances; only lessons with her tutors. When Corvo finally caved, she shook her head, a rueful expression in her eyes.

“I don’t know where you go every night, Corvo, and I know better than to ask. But one of these days, I fear, it will be your undoing.”

Corvo breathed through a rattling cough.

“With any luck, this will all be over soon.”

If the words were meant to be reassuring, they did not seem to have the intended effect.

* * *

They were sitting, side by side, on an island in the Void. Corvo had appeared as he always did, without warning and without a sound. Daud hadn’t even turned, just jerked his head at the spot next to him. Neither of them spoke, watching the Leviathans float and sing above.

At some point, Corvo had reached between them and taken Daud’s hand, laced their fingers together. Daud had let him.

“You’re looking for Delilah? Here?“

Daud nodded.

“And when you find her, what then? She’ll run away, and you’ll give chase? Round and round the Void they go, for all eternity?”

Daud didn’t respond.

They fell silent again.

“I could become a witch,” Corvo said eventually. “Learn their spells. Make my own. Perform the ritual myself.”

“No,” Daud said roughly. “You can’t risk it. It will change you in ways you cannot hide, and everyone will know. You will die a heretic, and Emily will be alone.”

“Not if I can draw you out of this place first,“ Corvo challenged foolishly.

Daud withdrew his hand, fingertips trailing over Corvo’s wrist. “Don’t be difficult.” Then he stood, and walked away.

He couldn’t have known that this was the first time Corvo had been able to go into the Void in nearly three weeks.

* * *

_You won’t change his mind, Corvo._

“Taking pity on me again?“ Corvo wondered, his voice still rough from sleep. It was rare for him to encounter the Outsider in his dreams these days — even more so because he spent so many of his nights in the Void. That night, however, Corvo had returned to his quarters late, after a lengthy council session, and collapsed into bed.

 _If this were pity, I would tell you to leave him here to rot_ , the Outsider told him squarely.

“I can’t do that.” Even as he was told, over and over, that it was impossible, Corvo knew that it was leaving behind the man he loved which was impossible. He could alter the world around him, even time, with the gifts the Void had given him. He could not alter his own heart.

 _You won’t become a witcher, Corvo. You won’t be the one to reverse the ritual_.

“Am I to be twice a widower then, and never even married?” Corvo returned bitterly.

The Outsider crossed his arms, but Corvo thought he could see the faintest flicker of _something_ in those indiscernible features. _And what of the future?_

“I know well enough what the future holds. If I can’t undo Delilah’s magic, and if I can’t take Daud with me through the painting… I can’t keep coming here, to remind him of what he lost. He’ll turn to hate me.” He paused. “Sometimes I think he hates me already.“

_And I suppose hatred is the opposite of love?_

“What else would be?“

 _Indifference_ , the Outsider surprised him with the answer, so sure and certain. _It’s always indifference_.

Corvo waited. Eventually, the Outsider spoke again.

 _I must admit, at first I half-expected you to appear and cleanly demand I give him back_.

Corvo couldn’t help the snort that escaped him.

_Have I amused you? Was it so wrong to hope you might sing for me?_

Corvo scoffed. “If it took _singing_ to have him back…“

_You refused my help when I offered it._

“Surely I don’t have to explain why.”

 _Oh no, I understand perfectly. But I_ can _help you._

“Why should I believe you?”

_Because you are desperate._

“You say that as if you don’t like seeing me that way.“ Corvo knew that, perhaps, he was being unfair. The Outsider had given him the gifts that had enabled him to keep his daughter safe, to take back her throne and take revenge on Jessamine’s killers. But he had also withheld truths, manipulated and invaded their dreams — including Emily’s. It was that which Corvo could not forgive.

_I cannot give him back to you. I cannot make him leave. What I can do, is give him a choice. One that is his and his alone, and that he will have to make without you._

“What are you suggesting?”

_Daud does not belong in this realm. He is neither dead nor dying, and the Void is not entirely… happy that he’s here. Delilah threw off the natural balance of things, as she is wont to do._

“If I had to guess, I’d say that you handing out _gifts_ to ordinary people is what’s throwing off the natural balance of things,“ Corvo countered.

_Ah, but none of you are ordinary. My Mark did not make you special, Corvo, you already were; and as much as I resent the notion of calling Daud ‘special,’ he is. So is Delilah, so was Vera. Retaining my Mark is not a promise that anyone might remain special; but I chose all of you for a reason. And, you, Corvo, you… chose me._

Corvo bristled. “I did no such thing.“

_No? Daud told you of his plan, suggested you might visit my shrines, suggested I might bestow my gifts upon you. And you came. He solved the mystery I handed down to him; but you came to him, and you came to me._

“What do you _want_?“ Corvo finally lost his patience. “Stop with the riddles, and just tell me.”

The Outsider made him wait, of course he did, and Corvo cursed under his breath. He hated how _caged_ he felt now, to be in the Void at the god’s behest. Finally, the Outsider said, _You have what no-one else has._

“And what’s that?”

_Leverage._

“Against you?” Corvo reared back. What could that _possibly_ mean?

_Against the Void. You have something that calls to it, and it wants it back. Daud does not belong here any more than you do, but you hold in your hand, close to your heart, one who does._

Corvo’s heartbeat stuttered. “Jessamine,” he breathed.

_Yes._

“There’s always a price that must be paid,” Corvo recalled the words, didn’t even know who’d spoken them. “And so this is yours?” Daud had been right, hadn’t he, there was always _something_. Always something else to dislodge anyone who was reckless enough to believe they’d found their footing when it came to anything to do with the Void, or its magic. He and Daud may have mastered their powers, but they were insignificant in the face of the Void’s hold on them. They paid that price, and perhaps they’d become too good at deluding themselves they paid it willingly.

_Not mine. But I cannot simply let Daud leave. Why do you think the Void has not yet attempted to crush you, Corvo? You may carry my Mark, but you are no witch, no god, you are but a man. You are under my protection, but it will only serve you for so long. The Void does not look kindly on those who would overstay their welcome. And you are here without an invitation._

“So what do you propose? A trade?”

_In essence. I do not decide who lives or dies, I do not decide whose spirit remains here, trapped, and whose moves on into oblivion, and I cannot undo Delilah’s magic from the depths of the Void._

“You mean you won’t,” Corvo accused.

 _I cannot make the gift of life_ , the Outsider continued, and it was clear enough that he was referring to Jessamine. _But I can propose an exchange._

“A life for a life.”

 _Jessamine is already gone,_ the Outsider said quietly. _Her spirit calls for the Void as the Void does for her._

“I can’t ask that of her.” Corvo shook his head, willing the Void god to _see_.

 _You can because she loved you_. _And you will, for him._

“Why are you doing this? Because you know I won’t succeed? Is that the future you see?”

 _There is never only one future that I see, Corvo. And I’m doing this not because_ _you_ _won’t succeed — given enough time, you might well do it. But how long will it take you? You know Daud will never agree if it means you become a witch yourself; and then what? Will you draw him out of the Void against his will?_

Corvo scowled. “I would never do that!“

_Wouldn’t you? You know he doesn’t want to you to be here in the first place — and yet, there you are. What’s to stop you from making that decision for him, knowing it is within your grasp?_

Corvo averted his eyes, hiding from the god’s knowing expression. “I wouldn’t.“

A moment later, Corvo blinked open his eyes in the familiar darkness of his room, alone. For what felt like an age, he just lay there, but eventually he heaved himself up and scrambled for his clothes, flung onto the foot of the bed. Retrieving the Heart from the folds of his coat, he realised the magnitude of what the Outsider had suggested, of what… Corvo was seriously considering to do. He would have liked to say he wasn’t, but there was no denying the racing of his heartbeat. Kneeling on top of the covers, he hung his head.

_Corvo…_

“Jess… how…?” How could he even _think_ to do this?

_I stayed for as long as I could, and I would stay longer if you needed me… but I am tired. I will be glad to rest. And if my return to the Void can secure his release…_

“I fear Daud will only hate me more for doing this,” Corvo whispered. “I fear he will not come, and I will have lost you both.”

_What if you told him you loved him?_

“If I told him, or if he believed me?“ Corvo shook his head. “No.”

_Corvo—_

“No. I won’t tell him like this, I won’t tell him and have it thrown back in my face. I’m not in a state to say it, and he’s… not in a state to hear it.” He sighed. “What’s worst is, the Outsider’s right. It needs to be Daud’s decision, and he needs to make it now; before we spend years making each other miserable. I never thought it would be like this, Jess. I never thought…”

_He was always… angry, to a point. But never like this._

“He’s angry with _me_ now,“ Corvo said softly. “It’s different.”

_Because he couldn’t bear to see you hurt._

“No. I should have been the one, out of all of us, to heed his wishes. I did not. He protected me, and I threw that away. It’s not—it’s not about—” Corvo knew she would think him a fool for his denial. But to believe Daud loved him _now_ , when any time they met in the Void might be the last…

_He protected you and Emily for the promise that he made me, but that promise is not why he kissed you, undressed you, or held you as you slept. It is not why he went into the Void. He wants to return to you, Corvo, do not give up._

“I wish you were here with me,” he whispered, loathing how selfish he sounded. “To guide me through this, to… argue with him yourself.”

_I know._

“How can I trust the Outsider to keep his word?” Corvo put his head in his hands.

_You cannot. That’s why He is doing this._

“What do you mean?”

_It’s a leap of faith, Corvo. Faith has no guarantee, and little to do with trust. That’s the point._

Corvo curled up on his side, still holding the Heart, staring into the dark. _Leap of faith_. He’d heard that before.

* * *

It would be days, then, before Corvo was ready to face reentering the Void. He stayed away, feeling guilty for Daud not even knowing that he was avoiding him, feeling guilty for _wanting_ to run to him and tell him that he’d found a solution.

Well, he hadn’t actually ‘found’ it, had he. It’d dropped itself into his lap, and with it a god’s promises. And what could those be worth? What would they? But he couldn’t stay away for long, couldn’t put it off any longer, so one night, after he’d escorted Emily to her rooms, he made his way to the hidden room.

It took him far too long to realise he was being followed — so lost in his thoughts, in his worry over Daud’s reaction. At the end of the corridor, then, he finally turned, scowling. Who would dare to—? The culprit did not move fast enough, and Corvo caught a blur as they pulled themselves into a doorway.

He sighed.

“Emily.”

Being able to tell from his tone that would not take kindly to playing hide and seek just then, she peeked around the edge of the wall. Corvo felt his shoulders drop just a little.

“Why did you follow me down?” Corvo asked, doing his best to sound anything but angry. She deserved none of his frustration and grief.

Emily walked up to him and took his hand. “You’ve been acting strange all week, but it was worse today. You’re still dressed in your coat even though it’s late, usually you take it off before dinner if you can. You’re going into the Void, aren’t you?”

“Em—”

“I want to see it,” she exclaimed, and Corvo barely had the mind to shush her. “I want to know _how_.”

“We’ve talked about this,” he said sternly, but she shook her head.

“No, you _told me_ I’m not supposed to know anything about it,” Emily scowled at him. “I want to know!”

“And I’ve asked you to spare me the worry of having you anywhere near that—” Corvo caught himself off just before snarling, ‘black-eyed bastard.’ “Near the Void,” he amended quietly. “It’s dangerous.”

“Stop worrying, then you can tell me,” Emily tried to turn his words on their heads, but when she realised he wouldn’t budge, she sighed. “What if something happens,” she tried a different tack. “And no-one knows where you are, how can we—”

“The Whalers know, Em,” Corvo told her, crouching down in front of her. “I understand why you want to know. But it’s my duty, as your father _and_ your Protector, to shield you from things that will seek to do you harm. As you grow, you will become capable of protecting yourself and others, and you need to. But for now, there are going to be decisions that I will have to make for the both of us, and I need you to trust that I know what I’m doing, and why.”

Emily had averted her eyes, so he squeezed her hand gently.

“I’m not keeping you out of that room to be cruel; but because I need to know that you’re safe when I’m not here. I know that, as you get older, keep-out signs will only look more enticing to you, and I know I only have myself to blame for that when the time comes. But, please, Em. You will test your limits and boundaries, as you must. Just please don’t let this be the start.”

She looked up at him then, searching his face. Eventually, she nodded.

“Thank you.”

Seeing his relief, Emily wrapped her arms around him for a hug. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Embracing her tightly, Corvo shook his head. “You’re stubborn and inquisitive, just like your mother. Never apologise for that.”

* * *

“It’s time,” Corvo began when the Void led him to Daud.

“Time for what?”

 _For you to make a decision_ , the Outsider carved his way out of the shadows.

“Decision?” Daud scoffed. “Yes, because I can _decide_ to leave the Void, of course.“

_You can._

Daud went very still at that, his arms crossed over his chest. It was no matter that he was out of his uniform, he looked imposing even now, stubbornly refusing help. Corvo wondered if he thought he could scowl them into backing off.

“How?”

_Same as I can draw people into the Void, I can guide them out of it._

Daud eyed the Outsider darkly. “And you didn’t mention this before because…?”

 _I_ _have_ _told you before. ‘Count the cost, Daud.’_

“You would buy me out?“ Daud turned and growled at Corvo. “What with?“ His eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking of giving up the Mark?“

_It’s not as simple as all that. Doing something such as this requires… balance. Two things of equal worth._

“Corvo,” Daud said quickly, alarmed, ignoring the Outsider where he was standing to his right. “What did you agree to?”

 _A trial_ , the Outsider answered before Corvo could. _To test your faith in one another._

Corvo waved his hand as if to defer to the Void god’s words, and Daud narrowed his eyes at him but, nevertheless, turned his attention to the Outsider. Watching him, Corvo felt Daud was one cryptic remark away from tapping his foot against the cobblestones in a mocking display of impatience just to try and rile the Outsider.

“Not our faith in you?” Daud asked, tone biting, and Corvo wondered what had it been like between them, all this time in the Void, just the two of them to be a pain in each other’s sides.

 _There is that, but I wouldn’t want to hog the spotlight_ , the Outsider said, knowing, of course, just what to say.

Daud bared his teeth. “What _do_ you want?“

_You have seven days. During that time, Corvo is forbidden from entering the Void, either through the painting or by praying at the shrines. He must wait for you to make your decision._

“And your price?” Daud demanded his due, which was no less than the truth. Even from a god, even here, trapped in nothingness. In that moment, Corvo loved him desperately.

“If one returns to the world, then another must pass from it,” Corvo told him quietly, calling his gaze back to him. Daud turned again, and the expression that passed over his face then frightened Corvo. He wondered if this face was the last so many of Daud’s targets had seen.

“Corvo, I forbid you—”

 _The Heart will return to the Void,_ the Outsider cut in before Daud could finish.

“Jessamine?” Daud shook himself out of his stupor and stepped away, walking away a few paces before turning again to stare at them both for a long moment. “You’re insane. You’ve both gone mad.”

“Her spirit has been in the world too long. She wants to rest,” Corvo told him quietly. It had taken himself time to accept it, but he knew he couldn’t keep Jessamine trapped in that cage forever. He had to let her go.

“I don’t believe you,” Daud was shaking his head, and he seemed more agitated by the second. Corvo floundered, searching for the right words to calm him down, to see _reason_.

“Daud, you and I both hated what became of her. This is how she can find peace—“

“You can give her peace without _trading her for me_ ,” Daud roared. Corvo stared at him, and even the Outsider had gone still. He had never… Daud had never raised his voice to him, even when they’d been at their worst after losing Jessamine. Had barked and growled, but never—

“I’m sorry,” Daud whispered, and his hands were trembling. He stumbled backwards and sat down on one of the low walls surrounding them, his head bent down. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a trade,” Corvo whispered. He wanted nothing more than to walk over to him, to take him into his arms and soothe away the darkness. _It’s the Void_ , he told himself. _It’s the Void that’s doing this to him_. _It must be._ He wanted to say more, to tell Daud it was alright, but he didn’t know what to say. What was there?

“Promise me one thing,” Daud said then. He didn’t look up at Corvo.

“Anything.” This was it, Corvo knew. They were out of bargaining chips, out of promises or vows.

“If I don’t come,” Daud began, “if I don’t return… promise me you’ll stop looking for me. Promise me you will accept my choice. No ritual. Destroy the paintings, and the lantern. If I don’t come, you let me go.”

Corvo nodded, feeling tears well up in his eyes. “I promise.” But he had one last thing of his own to say. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage, what of it he had left. “Daud… if you ever cared for me, even for a moment…”

Daud spared him a glance as he stood. He looked so tired.

“Isn’t that why I’m here?”

When Daud turned to leave, Corvo closed his eyes so he didn’t have to watch. The Outsider appeared beside him, cold shadows brushing against his shoulder.

_Seven days. Leave now. Do not return._

"I can’t,” Corvo whispered.

_Corvo, listen to me. No matter what you see, no matter what you hear, no matter what you dream. You cannot look back. If you enter the Void before the seven days are up, I will know, and I will let the Void have him._

Corvo raised his gaze to stare at him.

 _It’s his choice now_ , the Outsider murmured, and it was almost gentle. Almost human. _You’ve done everything you could._

Daud was gone from sight. Still, Corvo wouldn’t move his feet.

“I didn’t know to expect you to be kind.”

_My reasons are more than sentiment, Corvo. Keep yourself alive, and one day you might understand._

Somewhere during their conversation, without Corvo noticing, the Outsider had brought them back to Dunwall, out of the Void, and he was now fairly floating by Corvo’s desk, the world around them strange and muted for as long as he was there.

"Was that advice?"

_Would you prefer that over a warning?_

"The world is full of warnings. Whales travelling South, rats in the sewers, or a seagull shitting on your shoulder, what’s the difference?" He was just about tired and pained enough to let his mouth run away with him.

The Outsider almost smiled. Almost. _Seven days, Corvo._ Then, he vanished. _Don’t look back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) So basically you have my ten-year-old self’s absolute obsession with mythology (esp. Greek and Nordic) to thank for… all of this. Because, when I was writing _Who By Fire_ and deciding IF something should eventually go wrong, my brain went from ‘What if Daud ends up getting trapped in the Void’ to ‘OH MY GOD ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE’ in less than three fucking seconds and that, as they say, was that.  
>  Basically, the story goes like this: Orpheus, handsome man and talented musician, met and fell in love with Eurydice, who fell in love right back. They got married, and were blissfully happy for a short time (sound like anyone we know) until, one day, she dies and her spirit is sent down into the underworld (Hades). Orpheus is stricken with grief and, being under his father Apollo’s protection, takes a gamble — to go down into Hades as a living man, and see if he can get Eurydice back. So Orpheus goes, makes it before Hades (god of the underworld) and sings so beautifully about how much he mourns for her that Hades agrees to let her spirit back into the world. On one condition: don’t. fucking. turn around. No matter what, Orpheus has to trust that Eurydice’s spirit is right behind him as he leads her out of Hades.  
> You can all guess what happened.  
> Yup. He fucking turned around because, as Eurydice is only a shadow of herself, Orpheus couldn’t hear her steps. He thought the gods had fooled him, so mere steps away from the light he turns to check, and Eurydice’s spirit is torn back into the underworld.  
> Now, this is where the whole leap of faith thing comes in: in different tellings of this myth — Virgil, Ovid, Plato — the story transforms and carries alternate teachings, if you will. In Virgil’s telling of it, it was Orpheus’ own damn fault that he didn’t get his wife back; his punishment for not trusting Hades’ promise. In Ovid and Plato’s versions, the interpretation becomes more about the gods’ propensity to fuck with humans — so much so, in fact, that the story can be read so that the gods never intended to give her back and it wasn’t really her spirit that was following Orpheus in the first place.  
> So the conditions that the Outsider imposes are part of the original myth — no matter what happens, don’t come back into the Void, prove that you really want him back by doing as I tell you. But more than that, it’s about faith: Corvo, of course, needs to trust that the Outsider will in fact let Daud leave the Void if he decides to do so. Additionally, Corvo will have decide whether he can accept whatever choice Daud makes.  
> Daud, in turn, will have to trust that Corvo won’t break the deal and seal his fate. He will have to trust that the Outsider isn’t just doing this to get rid of Corvo and trap Daud forever. And he will have to decide whether to believe that Corvo truly wants him back.  
> Differences are, of course, that the Outsider isn’t Hades, he has, as such, no say in who lives or dies, it’s why he needs the Heart as a bargaining chip. It’s the old lesson: you want to take something with you, you better be ready to leave something behind.  
> But overall, this was really just my chance to make a Dishonored-verse Orpheus and Eurydice, and I took it. :D  
> b) “twice a widower” I fucking DIED @ my brain was that really necessary??  
> c) “Was it so wrong to hope you might sing for me?” — Shoutout to Orpheus for going on X-Factor to get his bae back.  
> d) “Don’t be difficult” — in case it didn’t ring a bell: a callback to their last kiss/Corvo complaining that he hasn’t seen him in days in Chapter 16 of Who By Fire, if anyone wants some more pain with their suffering there. Back then, Daud didn’t say it, knowing how cruel it would sound. He doesn’t hold back here.  
> e) I think next week we're going to need another Emotional Support Cat Donna post...  
> f) And yes, the "He could not alter his own heart" line is a reference to Shakespeare's Sonnet #116, The Marriage of True Minds, just in case anyone's worried about me putting my English degree to good use...


	9. Chapter Six — You've Stared at the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right — posting early because I'm stuck at home feeling poorly and I've been over this chapter a zillion times already, SO. HAVE IT. TAKE IT. I DON'T WANT IT.
> 
> When writing this, I realised that, no matter how awful I think my _notes_ for a character arc are, what actually then happens on the page is so, so much worse. So... enjoy, I guess??
> 
> Anyway: tunes!  
> The One That Got Away by The Civil Wars  
> What the Water Gave Me by Florence + the Machine

_If you ever cared for me…_

Across the Void, Daud held his head in his hands.

Fuck.

He hadn’t hidden his ill-gotten _feelings_ well enough, and now Corvo was pinning his last hope, his final plea on… on what? On Daud forgetting his damn place.

Of course Corvo knew. He’d seen through Daud’s gambit — pushing him away, pretending indifference. Deliberately hurting Corvo, or trying to, to get him to realise that this was a waste of time. Daud’s stomach had turned, but he’d still done it; had accepted his own hypocrisy. If their positions were reversed, he’d have done the same things Corvo had, and worse, and not only for Emily. He’d have wanted Corvo returned from the Void, even if his feelings were not returned. Would have taken up his place in it, if necessary.

_He didn’t say he loves me. He didn’t say—well, would I have believed him?_ _No._ _I’d have accused him of saying whatever he thought I wanted to hear. I’d have broken his heart to save it._

Did that ever work?

Instead, Daud reasoned, he should break his own and that, he could do. There was nothing left to save.

***

Where Corvo was forbidden from entering the Void, Jessamine wasn’t. She could see into the cold, and she had the advantage of the disembodied.

And one day into the week the Outsider had given them, she found him. Her heart, if she’d still had one, likely would have stopped at the shock and sight of him. He looked so different, and yet so much like the man who had once promised to look after her world once she’d passed from it. If the true story were ever to be laid down in chronicles, she supposed the more romantic sort of historians would suggest she had known she was going to her death. She had not. But she’d been Empress, not a fool, and she’d known the risks.

He was sitting on a rock, dressed down to his shirt, trousers and boots, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hands moving with practised, almost absentminded motions as he was sharpening his sword. How quaint.

“Daud.”

He was up in what would have been less than a second, his sword ready, his eyes sharp and, at the same time, untrusting of what he was seeing. “What are you?”

“The spirit of the Empress. Only the last of her essence, but here, briefly, I can… look as I used to, and do as all spirits of the Void,” Jessamine explained as best as she was able. She had not done this very often ever since moving into the Heart. Her time in the Void following her death had been brief, even if clocks ceased ticking here.

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” He grunted. “If this is one of your blasted tricks, you black-eyed bastard,” he called into nothing’s general direction.

“Daud, it’s me,” she insisted. “And I will not be taken for an illusion for my trouble.“

To her surprise and mild indignation, he laughed, and it might have sounded even more foreign to his own ears than to hers. “I see where Emily gets it from now. I was wondering.”

“Wondering what, precisely?”

“Well, Corvo’s intimidating when he needs to be, but he’s never quite gotten the hang of being… imperious.”

Jessamine would have to admit to being temporarily rendered speechless — he had been blunt and sarcastic during their limited acquaintance, yes, but never so forward, not with her. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well, if that is the case, then surely you will recognise an order when you hear it. Return home. Return to Corvo, to my daughter.”

Now, she had his undivided attention, and the intensity of his gaze almost scared her.

“I made my choices, and they led me here. It’s better this way. No imperial _order_ can change that, Your Highness,” he returned darkly.

For a surreal moment, Jessamine felt reminded of those council meetings when some academic twice her age would try to prescribe to her how to run her government, and she had to remind herself of her training and Corvo’s calming countenance by her side not to lose her temper. Daud’s anger was nothing like such insubordination, but equally her authority as Empress meant nothing to him now.

“How can you be certain?”

“Corvo and Emily are safe, that’s how I’m certain, and I—I’m here,” he rasped, and Jessamine had to fight not to cry at the emotion plain in his voice, plain at least to her; and only felt worse when she realised how Corvo had never understood the true extent of Daud’s devotion — much like Daud refused to understand Corvo’s now. One would gladly remain trapped in the Void so the other might live in the world, and to the other the world had ceased to matter if it was without the one they loved.

“And what other excuses have you devised for yourself?“ she challenged. “Surely, you—you saved his _life_.”

His expression twisted. “Delilah.”

“You’ve been trying to find her. And have you had any luck?”

“Not yet. But her magic is too powerful to be left drifting in the Void for all eternity. I’m not sure I am any closer to finding her, but I do know that if I do, I can at least keep an eye on her.“

“I could,” Jessamine argued. “Find her, I mean.” It might take her months or years, but she would try. For Emily, for Corvo. For Daud. For her own peace.

“Don’t,” Daud said forcefully. “Don’t risk it. If Delilah knew about you, if she knew about the Heart, if she found you here? She would find a way to hurt you. You and I both know what that would do to Corvo.”

“He suffers without you,” she cried, barely holding herself back from revealing too much in Corvo’s stead. “He misses you. If you could just _see_ that—”

“No,” Daud interrupted her. “You’re right, I did save Corvo’s life, and I did so that he might live it. Not so he could chase after a ghost. And I won’t have him trade you for me,“ he added. “You _can_ return to him. He needs you more than he’s ever wanted me.”

Anger did rear its hot head inside her then. “I should think that that’s my decision,” squared up to him, knowing full well how to make herself seem taller than she was, an asset for someone with diminutive height. “Can you not see it, master assassin? I am the ghost that haunts him, not you. I _cannot_ return to him, ever again. And I’m tired. I told Corvo and I will tell you: I long to rest. This is no trade, Daud. I will return to the Void, no matter which you choose. But I’d much rather know you were with him after I’m gone. It’s using the only leverage I have left. I can change the course of the Empire one last time.”

Daud was shaking his head. “That’s not _leverage_.”

“What is it, then?”

“Delusion.”

“Of my own power?”

“Of _mine_ ,” Daud growled. “What’s left of me? A broken man, left for Corvo to repair? You know what this place does to us, and it’s right that it should tear its way through me, but not him. He has to let me go, Jessamine,” he finished quietly, and she ached at hearing the familiar name from his lips. Corvo must have spoken of her often. Her beautiful Corvo.

“Has it ever occurred to you to _fight_ for Corvo to love you?” she asked, too exhausted to keep up the pretence. “Have you ever thought to ask for what you wanted if it wasn’t coin? If you’d truly believed he was merely using you, would you have let him? Or would you have demanded better, of him and of yourself?”

He didn’t answer. Tears finally spilling down her cheeks at the torture in Daud’s eyes, Jessamine moved forward and, quite without thinking whether it might work, put her arms around him, hiding her face in his chest. Even not as tall as Corvo, he was still taller than her, damn him. He didn’t move to hold her, but didn’t push her away, either.

“I never got to thank you,” she murmured. “For taking care of them.”

“Did I? Or did I just make it worse?” Gently, he pulled away. His eyes were kind, too much so for the face of a killer. “I should have known better than to get attached, and now we’re all paying the price, but Corvo most of all. I’m not worth the risk. The sooner he understands this, the better.”

“You view this as your punishment, don’t you. For the life you led before you found us.” Jessamine didn’t need to ask, she knew it with terrible certainty. Daud did not only believe he did not deserve saving — he believed that this was where he ought to be. For his _sins_. For all the lives he’d taken, the ‘culling,’ as historians had come to calling it, the blood running in the streets wherever he walked. She halted in her thoughts. Yes, that was who he had been.

So easily, he could have come to kill her sooner than save her that day. But he hadn’t. He’d tried to save her, had succeeded in protecting Corvo and Emily, had lost the one he’d loved as his own daughter to ambition and betrayal because of it; and still he had not abandoned them. Corvo had once asked her not to tell him what she saw Daud felt, but she knew — he loved them. Loved Corvo and Emily with a heart so much fuller than he knew, and so filled with dreams still; only dreams he would never allow himself to even think of now. Loved his Whalers, too, and ached for having disappointed them. He was the man who’d raised an army of assassins from the cradle and who, when the time for reckoning came, made a different choice. She thought of how easily she could see the love Corvo held for this man, how safe Emily felt when he was near. And in that moment she, too, loved him. The Knife of Dunwall. Daud. Murderer. Guardian.

“Yes,” Daud said plainly, but there was something in his voice — a thickening in the depths, as though his throat were tight with tears.

“And does it count for nothing that you have found love in spite of it?”

“There is no love for men like me.“

“Why do you _insist_ on loathing yourself?” Jessamine demanded, pushing against his chest. He swayed, but not from the force of her shove. About to stake another gamble, Jessamine gasped when she felt the pull of the Void, of the Heart. Corvo. “He is calling for me.” She raised her eyes to Daud. “Please.”

Sadness in his eyes, he shook his head. “No.”

“Daud.”

“Go.” He blinked. “Tell him you love him. He needs to hear it more often.“

“Daud—” Jessamine reached out, but a moment later, she was pulled back into the vessel of her spirit.

_You sent her away._

“She was summoned.” Daud surreptitiously wiped at his eyes under the guise of pinching the bridge of his nose before turning around to face the Outsider. “Not one of your tricks, then?”

_There is no need for tricks here, only the occasional illusion. But no, she was real. As real as a spirit of the Void can be._

Daud shook his head and sat back down where he’d been before. Why would Jessamine do such a thing? Why would she come here, looking for him? Daud supposed that Corvo must have received some manner of blessing from the Heart before taking him to bed, but this… Daud scoffed. One more reason why he never should have let his feelings for Corvo get the better of him.

_Is it really so unlikely that you should not be the only one to love Corvo selflessly?_

Daud sent the Outsider a baleful glare. “It’s not believing that Jessamine is selfless that’s giving me trouble,” he growled. It was that she should think to waste it on _him_.

_Hiram Burrows once asked Jessamine if it was worth fighting the Plague, whether it shouldn’t be let run its course._

The Outsider fell silent, clearly waiting for Daud to ask.

“And what did she tell him?” Daud gave in eventually.

_She told him that if_ _good_ _people stopped fighting their enemies, the world would die._

“And what of it? Then it’ll be out of its misery.“

_You know how you sound, Daud? Like a man who’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t believe in his heart._

***

There was no hourglass to mark the march of time outside of the Void, no way for Daud to know how long he had left until the Outsider’s offer — and patience — ran out. But somehow he doubted he would be left to deliberate forever. If he couldn’t make up his mind in what passed for a week outside of this realm, when would he?

And it was this that gave him pause. He was still doing that — making up his mind. For all that, at every turn, his answer was ‘no’ or ‘don’t’ or, in the Outsider’s case, ‘shut up,’ he was still waiting. Waiting for what? The other shoe to drop? Something, someone to come and change his mind? Or to tell him that he’d never deserved those scant hours of happiness he’d known at Corvo’s side to begin with?

He had been happy.

On the grounds of the Hound Pits pub, teaching Emily how to scout without being seen.

Showing the Whalers that, sometimes, the pen was mightier than the sword when they earned their elbow grease in research rather than sharpening their blades.

In Corvo’s arms.

Only ever briefly, he had been content, and he’d long learnt to make it last until the next such moment came along. Amidst the guilt and the crushing futility of his feelings for Corvo, those moments had been few and far between, but he’d known them for what they were, and he hadn’t only ever waved as they passed him by. Some of them he’d seized, greedily and selfishly. They stood out among his memories now, bright and true and real.

Corvo had asked him what he wanted, and only that.

Daud hadn’t planned on going to the Void. Tyvia would have done it, probably, unforgiving as it was. A few of the Whalers hailed from Tyvia, different parts of it; and he’d expected some of them might have wanted to return. Again others would have chosen Serkonos over Morley, he supposed; but then Fergus was from Fraeport and a few of the novices might have followed him there.

As for Daud, he’d only wanted out of Dunwall, out of Gristol, to get his bearings and his head clear. On the boat ride to Brigmore, he’d refused to think about returning. Then Corvo had kissed him like a man possessed, as though he’d known it would be the last time, and Daud hadn’t thought about much of anything then.

The cruelest mentor to anyone who had a lesson yet to learn was truth. And the truth, as he knew it and could barely admit it even to himself, was: of course Daud _wanted_ to go back.

His yearning for Corvo was the sluggish blood in his veins and the chain around his neck, and if he were to let himself feel it in his chest, he’d suffocate. Corvo would succeed in what the Void had yet failed to do — put him on his knees and beg for mercy.

‘Listen to yourself,’ he’d often griped at himself when catching himself thinking flowery thoughts about the Royal Protector, devastating in his uniform and out of it; and he rolled his eyes at himself even now. Pining like an idiot, he had been and still was, and he knew this wasn’t _brave_ , it wasn’t _valiant_ , or any other foolish word that had been conjured up to describe courtly romances.

And then, the Outsider had proposed a trial, and Daud was as furious at himself for even considering it as he’d been at Corvo for blindly agreeing. They had no way of knowing why the Void god would do this, why he would even consider helping them. What if he only did this to get rid of Corvo? What if he did know where Delilah is, and he was sending Daud into a trap? 

What if Daud did return to the world, but lost himself in the process?

 _You’re still here_.

“Get away from me,” Daud grumbled.

 _Ah, but you’re providing such excellent entertainment,_ the Outsider mocked. _Sitting here, brooding and unmoving_. _Cast you in marble, you’d make a wonderful exhibit at Bunting’s gallery._

“Must you speak, if you’re intruding?” Daud sighed more than he spat.

_You didn’t answer Corvo’s question._

“What’s it to you?”

The Outsider didn’t respond for a moment, annoyance fairly crackling in the air like static. _Oh so th_ _is is how it’s going to be_ _? You’re just going to be sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself?_

“Excuse me?” Daud turned and stared at the god for a long moment. He hadn’t thought of Him as _his_ god in a long, long time; yet now, here, there was a current of _something_ between them that hadn’t been since the beginning, since the Outsider had first appeared to a skinny, frightened boy and told him that someone would come to lead him away, to a different life. He’d never said a better one, and never had Daud been more aware of that than in the years that followed their inevitable falling out.

The black-eyed bastard vanished. Daud was left behind, trembling.

*

For far too long, Daud was too flummoxed to go after the Outsider, to take him to task for adding insult to injury and about a dozen other offences, most of them against Daud’s pride. Eventually, he stormed after him, blindly, relying on the Void to take him where he needed to go.

He found him after what felt like an age; and he knew very well that the bastard had allowed himself to be found.

“What do you know about sacrifice?“ Daud demanded. Hadn’t he asked that question once before, he wondered.

The Outsider executed a dramatic turn right out of his usual romantic stylings, but Daud didn’t even have the time to sneer at him before he returned, with _un_ usual vehemence:

 _All there is_.

Daud scoffed.

_So to see you cowering away in the Void and call it sacrifice, is more than a little insulting._

“I had one shot,” Daud eventually found his voice, deep with rage. “One shot at a different life, and I gave it away.”

 _And now you can have it back, and what do you do?_ the Outsider accused. _You’ve become too comfortable in your wallowing._ _It’s so very convenient, isn’t it_. _To remain here, pretending to be coming to terms with a past you’re steadfastly refusing to think of._

“I think of my past,” Daud growled. He thought of it every bloody second.

 _You’re running away_ , the Outsider contradicted him. _And you’re not very good at it_.

“Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” Daud asked. “To see me punished for my deeds, for my failure to _serve_ you the way you liked best?”

Something unlike contempt and very much like _anger_ crossed the Outsider’s face before fading into the Void. _Being left alone with your dark thoughts for all eternity, that’s your idea of punishment? Let me tell you something, Daud, it’s not. It’s self-indulgence. Undoing what you did_ _is_ _the hardest trick, you wrote that once and you were right. So if you want true punishment, dear Old Knife, you’ll go back. You’ll live in the world that you made, you’ll know its suffering_ _,_ _and you’ll work to make it better._

Once again, Daud was reduced to staring.

 _You know better, Daud_ , the Outsider delivered the killing blow. _Stop hiding like a child._

For what seemed like an age, Daud didn’t move. Then, he lunged, fist swinging right for the Outsider’s face. Unimpressed, the Void god disintegrated almost lazily, Daud’s skin brushing the remnants of the Void he left in his wake.

 _You know better than that, too_ , the Outsider scolded, reappearing behind him.

“It’ll make me feel better,” Daud grunted, turning and falling into a fighting stance without thinking about it, hunched over like a bull, like the brute he truly was. Fist-fighting never brought out the best in him. It got the blood up, and calculated murder was about more than adrenaline. Shaking his head to clear it, he forced himself to stand up straight, loosening his shoulders.

The Outsider canted his head. _I can get you a mirror so you can beat up the one you’re really angry at._

Daud growled at him.

Of course, all of that anger, all of that derision, was just window dressing. Yes, he’d been angry — at Corvo for taking the risk, for not heeding his wishes. He _was_ angry at him, for proposing to let go of the Heart, let go of Jessamine, to save him. ‘Save’ him. But Daud wouldn’t have been the first to wear anger like a protective carapace.

The world did not punish wicked people. The Void did. So he’d told himself, over and over, from the first moment after the ritual. Was this punishment, though, truly? Hiding away in the Void, beyond the veil; instead of facing every day the city he’d cut to pieces, instead of hearing the voices of those whose lives were forever covered in blood and ash for what he’d done. It had to be, Daud had decided, for every time the Void chose to remind him of what he’d left behind.

As for the witch who’d brought him here — would he ever find Delilah? If she _was_ planning something, how would he ever know? How would he ever stop her? If he was so concerned about Emily’s safety, then wouldn’t he be of more use to her by her side? Daud scoffed. What use would the Empress have for a broken man, other than hand him over to her father for repair? It was a task Corvo did not deserve to be burdened with.

The Outsider drew a mocking brow, as if he’d read his thoughts. Probably had, the bastard.

_You’re peas in a pod, Daud. Each decides the other cannot love him, and then there you are, too afraid to tell the truth or, indeed, to ask for it. And now, Corvo is finally asking something of you and you won’t go._

“Care entitles you to nothing,” Daud spat. “Not every call must be answered.”

_But would you really deny his, if he needed you?_

Daud closed his eyes at that, uncaring that He could see. “He doesn’t need me,“ he said, but even he felt it lacked conviction.

_No? Then why would he risk life and limb to come here, searching for you? Why would he come to_ _me_ _? You can choose to accept this, and follow him where he leads just as he followed you, or you can prefer to stay here, miserable for all eternity._

This time when the Outsider flickered from view, Daud did not follow him. Instead, he sat heavily on a low brick wall, one of those that always seemed to conveniently materialise whenever needed. He pinched the bridge of his nose again, out of habit, to stave off an impending headache that wouldn’t come.

If he were honest with himself, he’d admit these were all things he’d known — known, but not believed. Considering the Outsider’s outright rejection of his fatalism, Daud supposed he could have been accused of not believing much of anything. Only fitting for his blackened heart.

That was how he’d always thought of himself. ‘I am wolf to man’ had been his motto — man had domesticated the wolf, but barely, the hounds that roamed the streets of Dunwall a far cry from the beasts that yet still bit the hands that fed them. And now, he fancied himself being punished, but had the Void ever thrust into his lap the ledger that demanded he account for his life? No. The Void did not do your work for you. Nothing would change while he was here — he would not change. Bitterly, he laughed at himself. What a fool he was, for wanting a city’s forgiveness. Or even just one man’s. Corvo must have read all of his journals by now, all of his logs. And still he’d come. He’d come. The Outsider might well think Daud had at some point given up on rescue, but in truth there had been nothing left to lose belief in. It was Corvo who’d proven them both wrong, and Daud had been so angry at him for making that choice for him. But here he was now, judging Corvo’s wants and needs as if they were his own.

Daud was a coward to hide in the Void rather than facing the broken shards of his past. He knew that, too.

 _He_ _needs_ _me_ , he thought. _Or at least he believes he does, and isn’t that worth more than love? My sword has always been worth more than my heart. And he may as well have both, even if he has no use for the latter._

***

The Outsider was waiting for him where he sought him. Of course.

"Why are you doing this?" It was the one thing Daud couldn’t fathom. What was the Outsider getting out of helping them? Helping him?

 _Why do I do anything?_ the Void god lobbed the question back at him.

"To make me miserable?" Daud suggested in an odd moment of humour.

 _You do a good enough job of that yourself_. The Outsider gestured towards the swirling light. _It won’t hold for much longer. Time to decide. How does it end for Daud the hired killer, the murderer, the saviour of the Empire? It's up to you now._

“I’ve made my choices,” Daud told him, staring at the light. “I’m ready for what comes.”

* * *

 

**Corvo Attano’s personal diary**

> _‘My reasons are more than sentiment, Corvo. Keep yourself alive, and one day you might understand.’_
> 
> _The Outsider said this to me just before he sent me out of the Void. And now, finally, I do understand. This is_ _n_ _o_ _t a gift, nor is it a backhanded offer of help. It is an intervention, to stop me and Daud from eviscerating each other. Waiting around for the ritual to have a chance at success would destroy us both. I wish I could have thanked him and let the feeling fill up my chest, but it wouldn’t have been true._
> 
> _The Outsider told me not to look back, no matter what I see in my dreams._
> 
> _I dream of Daud’s broken body. I dream of his screams of my name, echoing through the Void, in pain and desperate. Jessamine begs me not to heed the lure, and I barely dare to rest for fear of being torn into the Void in my sleep._
> 
> _So I sit awake half the night, and I try to remember a time when I wasn’t so unsure of my own self._ _What if the Void keeps him? Or worse, what if the Daud that returns — the man the Outsider sends me — is nothing but a mirage? What if he’s lost his memories, and the Daud I loved is still gone forever?_
> 
> _Daud seems so different now — has the Void changed him? He’s so mired in guilt, even worse than I knew him to be after Jessamine’s death. I feel equally as guilty for going against his wishes, but I have to believe that a part of Daud still wants to come home. I have to believe that there is more to him than how much he hates himself. Sokolov wrote that the Void hungers… perhaps it designs to keep the spirits it devours, whole or broken._
> 
> _I told him once that neither of us would likely forget his past. I meant to convey to him that I wanted to be his friend not in spite of who he used to be, but because of how he chose to own up to who that was, and how he turned himself around. I see now that I failed_ _him that day_ _, spectacularly._
> 
> _I know that Daud might leave me even if he does return, for anger over what I did in chasing after him. I’d still do it all again; and I’ll take his anger and his accusations, if he just comes back._
> 
> _Losing him will never hurt any less, no matter what I do. So I still held his hand. I understood his indifference, his occasional cruelty, I understood the bite of his words. But he still held my hand. Still looked at me with that expression in his eyes — the way he used to look at me when we were naked and tangled up and there was, just for one moment, no pretence between us._
> 
> _I come to remember the things I’ve been told. Billie, the Whalers, Jessamine, all so sure and certain. I remember the resignation on Daud’s face. Could he truly love me? It was a gamble, one last desperate reach, and I can’t bring myself to regret it, or to apologise even on these pages. I never presumed, tried never to take for granted what he gave me; and even as he held me in his arms I didn’t dare to hope. Lust is no substitute for love, I thought, but neither is devotion, and tried not to consider that Daud had likely not let anyone touch him like this in years. Equally, in a different world he might have loved me without ever wishing for my hands on his skin, so what good was speculation._
> 
> _I saw the things he was willing to do — for Emily, for me — and that was enough. It will always be enough._
> 
> _If even half of what he did, he did for me… how can I be worthy of his heart?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) I took a chance there with making Jess the viewpoint character in her scene with Daud, but I think it’s good that we get the outside perspective on him at least once this chapter; and especially hers. I want to do more in terms of viewpoint character switching in future parts, anyway, so this was the first experiment for that.  
> b) The lines “She told him that if good people stopped fighting their enemies, the world would die." — “And what of it? Then it’ll be out of its misery.“ — "You know how you sound, Daud? Like a man who’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t believe in his heart.” were nicked from Casablanca! Can’t find a clip of the scene, sadly.  
> c) We have two songs this week, mostly because I’ve always loved that song by the Civil Wars and it’s basically Daud’s anthem from the first moment he realises he’s in love with Corvo AND because I listened to What the Water Gave Me and, as you know, I like the water theme ;) and because the line “‘cause she’s a cruel mistress,/ and the bargain must be made” KILLS ME DEAD  
> d) Daud is a big sack of feel-bad. I love him. And basically, in the last chapter and the first half of this, I stuck him into a huge vat of desperation and THEN proceeded to haul him out of it. It was NOT easy and thus required a few choice words from the Outsider, because godfuckingdammit, he’s had it. He genuinely CANNOT escape, and Daud’s fucking hiding here even though he’s got a chance??  
> e) The key was framing Daud’s stubbornness not as an unwillingness to return, but his belief that living in the Void forever was the punishment he deserved. But THEN the Outsider hands him an even better way of punishing himself: going back and facing what he did. THAT is how the Outsider gets Daud out of the house; so I wouldn’t call it ‘help,’ per se. More like targeted manipulation of Daud’s goddamn pride in being the best at hating himself. aha. ahahahahaha god someone save me from myself.


	10. Chapter Seven — I Am the One Who Loves Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo searches. The Heart wanders. Daud returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early because I caaaaaaan and because you've all suffered enough (and also because work travel and carving out time where I can). (She says, inviting you in for another round because... this is still angst? Somehow? She says, as if she hadn't planned it this way??)
> 
> In other news -- I made a [Daud Wall of Shame out of all your comments telling him he's a fucking idiot](https://screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse.tumblr.com/post/170494524800/so-i-made-a-daud-moodboard-with-comments).
> 
> Music: [Without You by Junip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHzXF4IAHY8&index=46&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).

On the seventh day, Corvo woke with his heart so full it felt empty in spite of it. Every night for the past six, he’d lain with the Heart cradled in his hands, his body curled protectively around it. They had agreed that he would do this, to be there if she needed him; and for him to call her as often as he needed. He couldn’t have known that that one time he’d pulled Jessamine’s spirit out of the Void and away from Daud, but when the Heart had thumped in his hand and her voice had brokenly told him, _He will not listen_ , he had forgotten the abandoned shrine he’d needed her help to find and dismantle before the reconstruction crews happened upon it. Instead, he’d sunk down on the rotten floor of the quarantined building, in one of the last few boroughs of the city still completely walled off, back against the crumbling wall. _He will not listen._

Now, the shard glowed softly. Corvo closed his eyes, shutting out the dawn. He’d slept for a few hours at most, and only because his body had finally demanded its due. “I don’t know if it’s hope that guides me, or despair. Not anymore.”

_Whichever it is, it will get you through the day._ _Just as long as you still feel._

Corvo sighed. The day ahead was filled with distractions — some inevitable, some engineered. The Whalers’ Watch report, a meeting with Emily’s council, another with Curnow on the Whalers’ progress. It seemed the man had actually made it his mission to teach a band of former outlaws a few lessons on abiding by the law and, rather than murder, Curnow’s challenge lay in sticky fingers and old habits. Thus, he made sure that especially the youngest among his new recruits never had to doubt where their next elixir rations were coming from. The Tower kitchens were keeping up with increased demand and more hungry mouths to feed, and sometimes Corvo marvelled at Daud always doing his utmost to keep everyone fed more or less single-handedly; buying what he could from bakers and butchers who wouldn’t ask questions and, if necessary, stealing the rest. During their time at the Hound Pits, it’d been Daud and Lydia balancing the books, passed back and forth to cover the expenses necessary to keep both pantry and armoury stocked.

The days passed, as days were wont to do, more slowly than others had before and yet faster than any would again; for every minute that trickled through the hourglass was another that Daud had not come.

Emily didn’t know. The Whalers had been told, yes, but even Rinaldo sworn to secrecy. Corvo knew it was not right to keep this from her, but the nobles at Court were like bloodhounds in their relentless pursuit of wavers in the Empress’ countenance, of cracks in her smiles and even more so her stern looks. Instead, Corvo would do the waiting for them both, while the Whalers that could be expended ran scouting patrols across the city.

“Just like the old days,” Galia had said to Thomas on the third day, clasping his shoulder and fairly shoving him through the window of Corvo’s study ahead of her. Corvo had ignored the stifled protest in favour of convincing Rinaldo to remain with Emily. The young man had been half-afraid he’d spill the secret and half-mad with the urge to go out himself and scour every inch of Gristol for a sign of Daud’s return; but in the end his duty to the Empress had won out. Corvo had tilted his head and wondered if Rinaldo might be the apprentice any Lord Protector would be lucky to have, come the time when Corvo’s age caught up with him. Such worries were cast aside, however, with the passing of another day without news.

Corvo brought Emily to bed that night, staying with her as the lamplight waned and she drifted off while he brushed his hand over her hair the way that had always used to calm her down when she was little.

“You were acting strange today, Corvo,” she told him drowsily, and he clamped his teeth together to contain the truth in his throat, even if he was helpless against the lie in his eyes.

“Leave your father to his oddities,” he said lightly, “they’re likely to worsen with age.”

A giggle escaped her. “You are odd,” she decided, then yawned mightily. She was nearly asleep. “But I still love you,“ she mumbled into her pillow.

“Love you, too, Em,” he murmured.

Once he was sure Emily was asleep and safe for the night, his steps took him towards the gazebo. There would be no sleep for him tonight, he knew, and perhaps it was fitting that, if he was to lose both Jessamine and Daud forever, it should be where he had first mourned them. No-one disturbed him on his way, and once he had settled himself, leaning against the stone banister and looking out across the river, Whalers and regular guards alike carved out some room in their patrol routes to leave him to silence; his constant companion. They couldn’t know that he had company.

_I can feel my time drawing to a close. This is my last night._

“Thank you,” Corvo whispered. “For your grace, for the light you cast upon my life. I was a better man for knowing you. You gave me love, and hope, and our daughter. No matter what happens, she will always be my future.”

_I loved you, my Corvo, and I treasured every minute of our days. Thank you for bringing me here. I always treasured this place. Looking out over the Wrenhaven, somehow I felt closer to my people than during any address or ceremony. Is it selfish to want to be remembered, even as I slip away into the Void?_

“We will keep your memory alive, my love. As long as I draw breath, Dunwall will not forget you.”

 _Fear not, Corvo, for as long as there is someone I care for in this world I will not be forgotten_.

They spoke of Emily then and of her future, and a little of their past. The hours they whiled away together when they were both young and antagonistic and didn’t know what to do with one another — the day when Corvo finally gave in and taught her how to wield a knife and she looked at him differently after that. The way Corvo’s silence changed from forbidding to challenging to comforting to conspiratorial. The day Jessamine was crowned, the day it was publicly announced the Empress was with child. The way he held her when the morning sickness got her, the way he held her after embittered debates with her council on the _necessity_ that she disclose the identity of the father or, failing that, that she take a consort of royal lineage.

“Do you think Emily ever will? She takes after you in stubbornness,” Corvo teased the Heart.

_If she does, I hope it will be her choice, and theirs, and no-one else_ _’s. Empresses serve their people, it’s true, but they have their own souls to think of, too. And we cannot rule even just one district if we run foul of who we are._

“Did you? Ever run foul of who you are?”

_I wish_ _… I wish I knew._

So they continued, and the hours were carried away as sand with the tide.

 _It_ _’s the sunrise,_ the Heart said mournfully. _The seventh day has passed_. _It_ _’s time, Corvo._

“You were the star in my sky. Jessamine…”

_And you were mine. Goodbye, my love._

As Corvo sank to his knees, as the Heart turned to ash in his hands and the wind took it away, as he hoped against reason that he had not lost all he held dear, he knew. He knew. The Void was a cruel mistress. The bargain must be made.

*

“Corvo.” Thomas had appeared at the top of the stone steps leading to the gazebo, keeping a polite distance but likewise having no chance but to intrude. “Do we keep searching?”

Corvo heaved himself up to stand, straightening his back. He looked to where the sun had risen in the East.

“Send out every man you can spare.”

“Rinaldo, too? He’s off duty.”

“Rinaldo, too.”

“Sir.” Without further ado, Thomas vanished. From all around him, Corvo recognised the telltale sounds of Blink, so different from the flutter of Transversal.

No matter where — if — Daud reappeared, there was no telling what condition he would be in. He might be disoriented, or sick, or both, and if he needed help, whoever found him had to be on their side. Corvo hadn’t told Curnow. A risk, yes, but about equal to the danger Daud would have been in if Corvo had warned the Captain to instruct his men. Even among those Curnow trusted, there could always be someone who needed the coin to be gained from bringing in the Knife of Dunwall, dead or alive.

Breathing deeply, Corvo steeled himself for the day ahead: more meetings and reports which would prevent him from going out into the city himself before nightfall, and he couldn’t afford to let his distraction show. Ames had worked hard to arrange negotiations with the leaders of Dunwall’s industry to come to an agreement on the subject of whale oil rationing, the future of power technologies, and organised labour. This was one of many meetings in recent weeks, and there would be many more. Emily attended most of them, guided by Corvo and Ames, and had so far impressed the money men with her fearlessness and quick intelligence.

Trying not to let his thoughts be overcome by the weight missing on the inside of his coat, he knelt down one more time to brush leaves and soil from Jessamine’s tombstone. Then he stood and left the gazebo. There was work to do.

***

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid it is just not that simple. Unionising labour affects every part of Dunwall’s industry, and if we accept business from the other Isles, we are most certainly going to have to adjust our conditions accordingly, which could adversely affect Gristol’s exports,” Lord Ramsey lectured — or attempted to, as neither Emily nor Ames looked particularly impressed. Emily had inherited her mother’s limited patience with men three or four times her age patronising her.

“Prices don’t go up because you’re paying your workers decent wages, Ramsey. They go up because your pockets keep getting deeper,” Ames retorted after a nod from Emily; and Corvo would admit to some amusement as he watched Ramsey go even paler. It had been obvious throughout the negotiation process that Ramsey had speculated on having found an ally in Ames since, yes, she had helped him take down Rothwild and his slaughterhouse-turned-prison gang. But now that she was free of him and protected by her position on the Imperial Council, Ramsey was beginning to realise that she had used him as much as he’d used her. And didn’t that _sting_.

“What about workers from Serkonos, Morley, or Tyvia working in Gristol? Would they receive the same conditions? And what about workers from Gristol working jobs in foreign ports?” Lord Pratchett (of Pratchett’s Jellied Eels, the most vile concoction Corvo had ever laid eyes on, smelt, or tasted) questioned. “If we pay them more just when they work here, our partners around the Empire won’t be best pleased if their employees start getting… notions.”

“Notions?” Ames lobbed back mockingly. “My, Lord Pratchett, you sound just like my father. Only, he was talking about _me_.”

Emily cleared her throat, evidently in an attempt to diffuse the situation, and the bickering ceased obligingly; at least for the moment.

“Workers will be paid according to the tariffs their employers have agreed to. These tariffs will differ in every port in the Isles, but it is our hope that over time, we can work with the other nations to establish an acceptable minimum. As for unionisation, it is the Crown’s steadfast opinion that labour unrest will continue and worsen if we let exploitation and wasteful handling of resources go unchecked. Families of miners have formed a committee in Karnaca, to oversee the working conditions in the silver mines and the risks the dust poses to the workers. Aramis Stilton, the owner of Karnaca’s largest mines, is highly respected by the Duke of Serkonos; and I think you will agree that improving the lives of workers has not negatively impacted the export of silver, nor the prices we pay for it,” the Empress delivered her pronouncement without stumbling.

Corvo eyed her from where he was standing a little ways behind her chair, not wanting to crowd her nor leaving the others room to make fun of her ‘attack dog.’ For now, such small speeches would have to be prepared and yet delivered by her with as _unstudied an air_ , as Callista had put it in her elocution lessons, as possible; but Corvo knew his daughter well. Her sharp mind was already picking up the rhetoric, as well as the complexities of the politics and principles behind it. Not long now, and she would be able to draft her own speeches as well as improvise in situations such as this.

Ramsey and Pratchett both looked slightly ill, and as little patience Corvo had for just about anything today, he enjoyed that, at least.

These uncharitable thoughts, however, were interrupted by the door opening.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Rinaldo gave a slight bow in Emily’s direction, who acknowledged him with a stern look and a nod — stern so as not to smile brightly at seeing him for the first time that day. “The Chief of the Watch is asking for a word with the Lord Protector.”

“Of course,” Emily agreed easily enough. “Go on, Corvo.”

Corvo nodded, bowing shallowly, working desperately to calm the turmoil in his chest. He eventually got his legs to obey him and signalled for Rinaldo to take his place, who was already on his way into the room.

“Bring her to her rooms after this,” Corvo murmured as they passed one another. “And not a word.“

“Sir,” Rinaldo whispered back.

 _Please,_ Corvo thought. _By the Void, please_.

When he left the room and closed the door, he saw another guard had taken Rulfio’s place outside the door; and down the corridor stood Thomas, waiting. Hands clasped behind his back, Corvo could see his fingers twitching; something Daud had worked very hard to train out of any novice he’d ever taken on. Corvo felt as though his lungs were filling with steam rather than air. Still, he forged ahead until he reached him.

“Where is he?“

“We found him in the Flooded District, Corvo. In the Chamber. We don’t know if that was where he returned or if he made his way there,” Thomas whispered as they walked, and Corvo floundered at the implication.

 _Void_. What if the Chamber was all Daud remembered? What if he had forgotten… Corvo forced himself to return to the present. There was no use for speculation now.

“Is he conscious?”

“No, he didn’t say a word. We sent for Samuel as soon as we found him, he brought us back to the Tower. We didn’t want to risk carrying him across the rooftops, not when everything’s still falling to pieces. The others are waiting at the water lock now. How do you want to proceed?”

“Make your way up through the water lock, use the sewer access. Skirt the patrols in the courtyard and get inside the Tower. Use the awnings to get around and bring him to my quarters. I’ll send for Hypatia, she should be working in her lab today.“

“Piero signed in this morning, too,” Thomas told him.

“Even better.“

“What about Sokolov?”

“He’s as obsessed with the Void as only Granny Rags before him. I’ve no patience for him to use Daud as a guinea pig,” Corvo growled.

Thomas winced, and nodded.

“Give us half an hour.”

At the top of the stairs leading down into the atrium, they parted, and Corvo made his way back upstairs towards his chambers.

“Simmons,” he called coming down the hall.

“Sir?” Simmons stood at attention and waited patiently for Corvo to reach him.

“Fetch Doctor Hypatia and Piero, they’re in the laboratory downstairs. I have need of their advice. Don’t be seen—”

“Hurrying, sir, I know,” Simmons interrupted him, but without impertinence. Corvo jerked his head to dismiss him, and as Simmons got underway, he unlocked the door to his rooms. Hesitating in the doorway, he considered the situation. Turning quickly, he made his way back down the corridor, to one of the spare bedrooms. There should be… ah, yes. A few cots had been brought up for the construction workers to rest on for the night if the weather was too bad to send them home across the city; and obviously not cleared away yet. Folding one up and tucking it under his arm, Corvo headed back towards his rooms.

Keeping tight reins on himself, he did _not_ pace while waiting for the others to arrive with their precious cargo. Instead, he tidied his desk, took off his coat and vest, and lastly took down the bedding. Hypatia would need space to examine her patient. He was rolling up his shirtsleeves when the door leading out onto the small balcony opened. Thomas and the others had carried Daud up overhead by the awnings, avoiding the guards and staff.

Corvo barely dared to look.

“Put him on the bed,” he instructed, watching as three Whalers gently deposited their erstwhile leader on Corvo’s sheets.

“We had to take turns,” Galia grunted as she righted herself, setting down what looked like a bundle of Daud’s coat and belts by her feet. “Void, he’s still heavy as a sack of spuds,“ she told Corvo gruffly, but he knew her well enough now to recognise the relief in her expression.

“How would you know,” Fergus challenged, breathing somewhat heavily himself.

“Had to haul him up the stairs in the Chamber once when he got his shoulder busted open by a bullet. Before your time,” Galia needled. “Lurk was laid up herself, or I’d have let her deal with him. He’s a lousy patient.” She stopped and looked down at Daud, reminders of the past suddenly forgotten. “He hasn’t said a word.”

“How did you find him?”

“On a hunch, really. We figured, checking out the Flooded District was at least worth a try. Didn’t think we’d find him face-down in the dust in his old office,” she trailed off quietly.

Finally, Corvo stepped closer and took in the man lying still in his bed.

Daud looked as he had in the Void — dressed down to his sleeves, his white shirt unstained by blood at least, if covered in smears of dirt. There was an uncanny pallor to his cheeks, however, and beads of sweat collected on his brow. Corvo wanted nothing more than to sit by him, touch him, put his hands on his chest to feel him breathe and his heart beat, but he restrained himself. Hypatia would be here soon, and she could do all those things without breaking down in tears.

“Was there anything else, anything that shouldn’t have been there?” Corvo asked instead.

“No, the office was completely empty. We can go back and do a sweep of the whole building, but it doesn’t look like he was roaming around in there. No tracking footsteps,” Galia added at Corvo’s questioning glance.

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called, motioning for the Whalers to step away from the bed.

Alexandria and Piero bustled in, Simmons signalling to Corvo from the doorway that he was back at his post. Corvo nodded at him, grateful for the young guard’s quiet acceptance of his frequent requests of secrecy — which demanded more than mere discretion, and Simmons had proven himself loyal to a fault.

“Oh my—Daud,” Hypatia breathed when she moved past the gathered Whalers. Quickly, she glanced towards Corvo, and he could practically see the questions mounting in her mind. But then she looked away, pulled herself together, and set her satchel down by the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Piero, equally wide-eyed behind his small round lenses, followed her example.

“He’s running a fever,” Hypatia said quietly, the back of her hand resting lightly against Daud’s forehead. Piero hummed, holding Daud’s wrist and taking his pulse.

“Heartbeat is sluggish, but steady.”

Hypatia looked up at them.

“I understand that you all worry about him, but we do need some room,” she said, not unkindly, to the Whalers.

“But—“ Galia protested, but Thomas nudged her shoulder with his.

“We should tell the others.”

She sighed, and nodded. “Alright.“

Reluctantly, the three Whalers turned, looking even more out of place now, next to Daud, in their Watch uniforms. Galia had been accepted her officer’s commission just last month. Corvo watched them proceed to the door, then set off after them.

“Tell the other Whalers,“ he told them quietly. “But don’t tell Emily just yet.”

“Why not?” Fergus asked.

“I don’t…” Corvo looked to Daud, then back. “I don’t want to tell her if he doesn’t survive the night.” He knew the anguish in their eyes as well as his own.

“Sir,” Thomas answered for them, and the other two nodded.

“Thank you. Go.”

They left the room, and Corvo fought against the guilt nagging at him. He knew he would not be able to protect Emily from loss forever; neither from her own nor from her responsibility for others’. As Empress, she would send men and women out to their deaths, and she would lose people she loved to time. But he would be damned and let her sit at Daud’s bedside to watch as he died.

*

“He’s feverish, and his body isn’t cooling itself down. We can prepare linen wraps for his head and legs, but I’m wary of forcing it. Most of the time, fever needs to run its course as it combats infection,” Hypatia told Corvo in hushed tones. Piero was taking Daud’s pulse again, making a notation in the log they’d drawn up. “I’ve noticed something else,” she continued, but hesitated.

“What is it?”

“The… tattoo on the back of his left hand,” Hypatia knew well enough not to refer to it as a mark. “It’s… flickering.“

“Flickering?” Having stayed out of their way as they examined Daud except to help them roll them onto his front to check his sides and back for injuries, Corvo made his way over to the bed now. Crouching down, he took Daud’s left hand in his to see for himself; and truly, there it was. The Mark glowed, briefly, then stuttered, as though its bearer were desperately out of mana and still attempting to use his powers.

“Can you make any sense of it?” Hypatia asked.

Corvo shook his head. “Only barely. Have you given him elixirs yet?”

“Yes, two doses of Piero and Sokolov’s new elixir, and one of my own solutions.”

“Some of Piero’s old elixir as well?“

“No, not yet, but I can go downstairs and fetch some,” Hypatia offered.

“No need. Check my desk, top drawer,” Corvo said and Hypatia did so immediately.

“Here.” She handed him the flask, and Corvo stood up.

“Help me tilt his head back,” he instructed, and she crossed to the other side of the bed. Piero made room for her so she could kneel on the mattress by Daud’s shoulder. Carefully, massaging his throat with his free hand to get Daud to swallow what was being tipped down his throat, Corvo administered a full dose. Hopeful, he turned back to the Mark. Briefly, it seemed to stabilise, but then the flickering took up again, albeit more slowly.

Shoulders sagging, Corvo breathed out on a sigh.

“I have a few more of these. We’ll try again later.“

“Alright,” Hypatia agreed. “Corvo… he seems stable for now, and there is nothing outwardly wrong with him. For all intents and purposes, he’s in a catatonic state. I have no way of measuring activity of the brain, but he is receptive to pain reflexes and his pupils contract when exposed to light. We will have to keep an eye on him, but there is no way of telling when he will wake up.” She reached across and put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly. “I promise you that we will do everything we can to bring him back.”

Corvo could do no more than nod.

Hypatia and Piero left, giving him more elixirs and explaining how to administer the linen wraps should the fever rise. Hypatia would return in a few hours to check on them, but until then Daud should be left to rest.

“Can I stay with him?“ Corvo asked, uncaring how miserable he most likely sounded.

“Of course,” Hypatia said softly as Piero nodded vigorously beside her.

“He shouldn’t be alone,“ he said. “Your presence can only be of comfort to him now.”

And so, Corvo sat by the bed for the rest of the afternoon, holding Daud’s hand in his. Eventually, Emily’s meetings were over, and Callista came to his rooms. Corvo could hear her enquiring with Simmons whether the Royal Protector was in his office.

“He is, ma’am,” Simmons told her. “If you’ll wait with the Empress for a moment, I’ll let him know he’s needed.“

“Thank you, Simmons,“ Callista’s voice carried through the thick doors clearly enough.

A light knock sounded on the door.

“Sir?” Simmons called quietly. “The Empress is asking for you.“

“Coming, Simmons,” Corvo answered, reluctantly letting go of Daud’s hand. Slowly, he went over to his desk, rolling down his sleeves and fastening his cuffs. He put on his vest and coat, buttoning himself back up. When he was done, the thought of leaving Daud was nigh unbearable. He stepped back towards the bed, picking up Daud’s hand again and threading their fingers together.

"Daud—I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you even remember my voice, but… you better still be here when I get back. You listen to me — you hold on. If—if you love me, you’ll hold on." His throat was tight, and it was all he could do not to plead and beg. "I won’t bury you, too.”

He straightened up, squared his shoulders, and schooled his expression back into the Royal Protector’s courtly mask. Then, he clenched his fist. He only had to wait a minute before Montgomery appeared by his side. He had evidently already been told of Daud’s return, but his jaw still dropped at the sight of his master.

“Stand guard. If anything happens, call for Hypatia and Piero immediately, and send Simmons to find me,” Corvo instructed.

“Sir.” Montgomery nodded. Corvo turned to leave, tearing himself away, but Montgomery’s voice stopped him. “Corvo, can I… can I talk to him? I’ll be quiet if you say not to, I promise, just… to tell him about the trouble the young’uns are getting into, and all that. And that we’re guards now, and—“

Corvo let a small smile slip through. “I’m sure he’d like that.”

*

Corvo spent the afternoon with Emily, discussing the remainder of the meeting that he had missed. He made up a story about Thomas’ report on the locations of the last Weeper hide-outs in the Flooded District (something he had, in fact, received from him in writing the day before). He wanted to tell her, wanted nothing more than to take her by the hand and drag her along to his quarters, to show her that Daud had returned. That Daud had come back to them. But as long as there was no telling whether Daud would survive, he could not bear to tell her.

He felt the first hopeful stirrings of joy in his chest, something he hadn’t dared to imagine even as he’d dreamt of holding Daud in his arms again. And now, Daud was back among them, had chosen them over an eternity in the Void. An easy choice, anyone who didn’t know Daud might have accused. But It never had been.

If Daud made it through the night, he vowed. Then he’d tell her. She would never forgive him if he hid Daud from her for long.

*

Corvo returned to Daud’s bedside before dinner, citing paperwork and fatigue, and Emily let him go with a kiss on his cheek. He shed his layers as he had before, then dragged out the cot from behind the paravent, where he’d hidden it earlier. He wouldn’t dishonour himself by sharing the bed with Daud without his permission, especially not knowing what Daud knew and remembered. So he would sleep on the cot, well used to it. He took some of the reports on completed and ongoing surveillance assignments from his desk and settled down. Hunched over and by the light of the lantern on his bedside table, he knew this was the fastest route to straining his back and his eyes, but he would not yield the place by Daud’s side now.

He checked on him frequently, feeling for his pulse and the heat of his skin. Daud’s shirt was showing patches of sweat, and Corvo cursed under his breath when he realised. He considered calling for a Whaler to help him, but decided he would make do on his own. Daud did not like being exposed, and even in the face of necessity Corvo had felt as though betraying his confidence when helping Hypatia unbutton his shirt to examine him for external injuries. Carefully, slowly, Corvo extricated Daud from his clothes, his stomach turning at how limp he was in his grasp when he propped him with an arm around his back. Instead of even trying to put a new shirt on him, Corvo fetched a few clean towels to wrap around his torso. It was what he’d seen doctors do in Karnaca, when the infirmaries had run out of clean linen — or shrouds. He took Daud’s pulse once again, hoping he hadn’t unsettled him too much. His breathing was still deep.

“Corvo.”

Corvo had been working for perhaps another hour when, at the sound of his name, he startled so badly he dropped his pen. He barely dared to look up.

“Corvo.” His name, albeit barely a mumble of it. Corvo shoved aside the paperwork and knelt by the bed, taking Daud’s hand in his. Daud didn’t react.

“Daud?” Corvo murmured. “Daud, can you hear me?”

Daud’s eyes were still closed, his complexion flushed with fever. His brows drew together in a frown, then relaxed.

“Don’t—don’t go there.”

“Daud?”

“Don’t go there.” Daud’s breathing was more laboured now, and his eyes still would not open. He was delirious, Corvo realised. There was no use for it now, then. He had to call for help.

*

Hypatia applied the cooling linen wraps and took Daud’s temperature once more.

“You were right to send for me,” she said quietly, checking the log Corvo had kept in her absence. “His temperature has risen very quickly in a matter of hours. We will have to take more blood samples, however, to find the cause of the infection.”

Corvo looked down at his hands.

“There’s… something I have to tell you. About where Daud has been.”

Hypatia stilled in her note-taking. “I was wondering if you would. To be honest with you, when you returned from Brigmore alone and no-one said anything — not you, not the Whalers, not even Emily — we all just assumed he’d died. But now he’s here…”

Corvo raised his eyes to meet hers.

“You know what the Mark on his hand means. He’s a heretic, just as I am. When we fought Delilah at Brigmore, he didn’t die, but he… he did pass into the Void.” He waited until some of the shock had settled on Hypatia’s face. “It’s not disease that’s making him ill. It’s the Void itself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Simmons is the real MVP, y’all, and if anyone has recognised the name: yup, he’s the young lower watch guard from Knife of Dunwall who resists his superior officer’s designs on one of the remaining families in the legal district. He eventually gives in, poor sod, but he’s got a good heart; so I decided on his name way back while drafting Who By Fire. Forgot to put it into the notes, then, though.  
> b) Yooo Twin Peaks reference. (For anyone not familiar — when Ronette Pulaski is in the hospital after Laura Palmer’s been found dead, wrapped in plastic, in her coma she says Laura’s name and, “Don’t go there.”  
> Only I was kind enough not to have Corvo digging for letters cut out from a newspaper under Daud’s fingernails.)  
> c) Also Callista is my Jane Austen stand-in and idgaf  
> d) Also-also I've been filling prompts over on tumblr and posting them on here as well. If you want more dumb butts in love stuff, have a look at this list of [writing prompts](https://screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse.tumblr.com/post/170504667475/writing-prompts)!  
> e) So the good news is, Daud's home. Right??


	11. Chapter Eight — Changing From Nothing to One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud wakes up. Corvo makes good on an old promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as promised, I'm finally giving the people what they want: EARLY CHAPTER 8.
> 
> Go forth, my dears, and suffer. I'll leave any remarks for the closing notes.
> 
> This week's soundtrack: [Hard on Myself by Hemming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tTDJjt-8t_I&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=47).

"Is it really him? Corvo, is he really back?" Clinging to his hand, Emily looked like she could scarcely believe it. After Daud had made it through the first night, Corvo had gone to see Emily before breakfast — and confessed. She, too, had struggled to hold on to hope. She deserved the truth, or as much of it as he could give.

He nodded. "He came back yesterday."

As predicted, Emily's brows drew together. "Yesterday!" she demanded. So Corvo told her. About their bargain with the Outsider, the seven days of waiting. Daud’s return. Not all of it, not the full extent of torture it had been to wait for Daud to make his decision; not knowing if he would ever come. Knowing that if he didn’t, it was because he didn’t _want_ to. He couldn’t bear to tell her that there had ever been a time when Daud hadn’t wanted to come home. It would crush her — and in truth, it wasn’t Corvo’s story to tell.

"I wanted to be sure he'd live through the night before I told you. I didn't want to be the one to give you hope only for the Void to take it away."

Even as Emily could not have liked that answer and Corvo knew she would give him a piece of her mind about being "protected from the world" later, her eyes were filling with tears now; something he knew she hated even more.

“Do you want to see him?”

She nodded.

He led Emily downstairs and into his rooms, closing the door softly. Keeping a light hold of her shoulder, he knew she would take the hint not to run ahead.

"Daud!" Emily gasped, lifting her hand to her mouth. She turned towards him again. "He's sick," she didn't have to ask. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not entirely sure, only that the separation from the Void is... making things difficult. He's running a high fever, and he started talking in his sleep during the night, so if he says anything while you sit with him, he's not saying it to you. But if what he's saying scares you or makes you uncomfortable, you can call for me or any of the Whalers and leave. Do you understand?"

"I do, but I won't. I won't leave him alone."

Corvo brushed his hand over her hair. She was a marvel. He gave her a little nudge. “Go.”

He watched as she approached the bed slowly, simply standing by Daud’s side for a long moment. Then she crossed to the other side of the bed, as Daud was lying on the left — Corvo’s side — and the right was spare. She removed her shoes and carefully, light on her feet, Emily climbed on top of the mattress, pulling her legs underneath herself. Then she put out her hand, reaching for Daud’s, and slipped her fingers into his palm. He was so quiet, so preternaturally still.

***

“No,” Daud muttered, moving his head from side to side, albeit slowly. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

Corvo tried to keep his hands steady as he rinsed the rag, dunked it in fresh cold water, squeezed and folded it and put it carefully back on Daud’s forehead. His dark hair was shimmering with water and sweat, and Corvo had changed the towels he’d wrapped around his torso for the second time just now.

On Daud’s other side, Hypatia was preparing a syringe to inject elixirs directly into the vein. They’d made do tipping the stuff down Daud’s throat the first night, but since they couldn’t rightly feed him, Hypatia had opted to cut out the middleman.

“Hold him still, please, Corvo,” Hypatia asked and Corvo moved to hold down Daud’s arms at the wrists on either side of him, settling a leg over Daud’s thighs just in case, to keep him from thrashing. At the prick of the needle, Daud hissed, but it was no proof of being aware of them.

“No. Go. Leave me,” Daud was saying now, but his eyes were closed and his jaw clenched. He had no idea where he was.

“I looked through more of the texts the Whalers brought me,” Hypatia told Corvo as she disposed of the needle. “Sometimes I feel as though there are no clues to what is ailing him, and then I turn the page and there are too many at once. The influence of the Void is vast, but it affects the body and the soul; and I cannot heal both.”

Corvo let his hands fall to his sides, his gaze seeking Daud’s face. 

“We have to keep trying.”

***

Hours later, Corvo stood at the window, watching whaling ships and traders pass along the Wrenhaven. He remembered how often he used to sit on the rocks leading up from the shore at the Hound Pits, especially at night. Watching the lights on the river, the Heart in his hands, Jessamine’s voice in his heart. She’d been his world and the light in his soul. When he’d lost her… it could have been so much worse than it had. _He_ could have been so much worse. And even from beyond, from the Void, she’d guided him, guarded him. The only home she’d known had turned to cold, to stone, to a prison made of decaying flesh, wires, and magic; and still she’d been the kindest spirit he’d ever known. She’d saved him.

Daud had saved him, too.

She was gone forever now, and Corvo desperately wished that he might hold her, talk to her just one more time. Always just one more. She had kept him going while Daud had been gone, and now he was back, and _sick_ , and Corvo didn’t know what to do. It was selfish, he knew, but he feared to forget, too. They said that the ones you loved died another, slower death when they faded from your memories.

Corvo wouldn’t let that happen to her.

***

_How is he?_

The idea of the Outsider asking something so inane to be _polite_ tickled Corvo, as much as anything could tickle him these days. When he wasn’t stuck in endless meetings or handling paperwork, he watched over Daud. He slept little, ate when he was reminded to do so, usually by Piero or Hypatia. Daud was never left alone: the Whalers guarded him diligently, and Emily joined Corvo in his chambers as often as she could.

“He’s still unconscious,“ Corvo told the Void god. They’d not spoken since the last time Corvo had been in the Void, and to see him now in his dreams, among the ruins of the old Abbey, nonetheless, seemed so… strangely normal. A reminder of times gone by. “His fever is slowly going down, but even Hypatia isn’t sure if he’s going to wake up soon.”

 _Hypatia is treating him?_ the Outsider asked, as if surprised.

“As if you weren’t watching,” Corvo followed the thought to its logical conclusion.

_Sokolov is the Royal Physician._

“Hypatia and Piero are just as capable, and far more trustworthy to keep their hands to themselves,” Corvo explained reluctantly; very well remembering his own such insistence when Daud had been injured fighting a witch in Drapers Ward. “I’m not subjecting Daud to Sokolov’s methods unless I have to. He invents elixirs, but he does not heal people. Nor does he take much interest in it.”

 _That may be the most unforgiving assessment you’ve ever given_ _me_ _, especially of a member of your Empress’ court._

“You are delighted, of course,” Corvo retorted.

 _Always so quick to believe the worst_ , the Outsider might as well have clicked his tongue, he sounded so much like Callista.

“Of you, yes.”

 _And such is a man’s gratitude_ , came the Outsider’s rebuke — and to Corvo’s credit, he did know to shudder at the way the shadows deepened around them, at the Void’s slithering threats and indifference. He also knew not to apologise, and to stand his ground. To apologise would mean to give the Outsider’s indignation, pretend though it may be, credence. Credence he could not afford.

“Do you know anything that could…” Corvo trailed off. ‘Help us,’ he’d wanted to say but couldn’t. He might as well have asked him if the well from which they drank was poisoned, and the god would only tell him that there was enough of that in Daud already. “Hasten his recovery?” he finished instead.

 _I suppose you_ _could_ _call it Voidsickness_ , the Outsider suggested. _No-one’s ever had the need for it._

“Daud does now,” Corvo returned. “His Mark, it flickers. Is that what Voidsickness means, is his body rejecting his powers?”

 _The Void was quite rightly sick of him, and the sentiment appears to be mutual_ , the god quipped, leaving Corvo to the thankless task of keeping a hold of himself. _But as time loses meaning in the Void, the world keeps turning in the sky. The stars continue their journey until one day they are snuffed out, as all things will be._

“What do you mean?”

 _One day, the Void will devour all the lights in the sky, Corvo_ , the Outsider told him sagely.

“That doesn’t help me,” Corvo deadpanned.

_No? I don’t know how much clearer I have to be._

“Just a little,” Corvo growled.

 _Fine_. The shadows curled closer to where Corvo was sitting on the ridge of the roof. _It’s time, Corvo._

“Time for what?”

The Outsider looked close enough to slapping a hand against his forehead. _Don’t be so dense_ , he bargained.

Ah, and Corvo could have slapped his own forehead then. _“Time_ is doing this to him?”

 _Not time itself, but being exposed to it. Travelling across dimensions, as it were, is palatable in small doses, but Daud went into the Void with the shirt on his back; he did not leave his body behind in a trance. You, trespassing through the paintings, felt some of that as well, didn’t you?_ the Outsider added, all but gesturing at his head — his hair.

It took Corvo a moment to digest all of that. “Will he lose his powers?” He barely dared to ask.

 _Bringing him back into the world left a scar, Corvo, you must see that. A scar on the face of time is not easily ignored_ , the god warned him, and the turn of phrase was not lost on Corvo.

“Is there any healing it?”

_Healing time? No. Healing Daud… he’s stubborn enough._

* * *

 

Slowly, chaos shifted. Images, blurred and distorted, became sharper, voices recognisable. Nightmares became dreams, and the tendrils of delirium slipped away. What he had been aware of only in fits and starts eventually took shape. Sounds, light. Some things he knew, others he didn’t.

Soft linens against his skin, but the shirt he wore was scratchier than he remembered. Coarse. Not a shirt at all.

A hand, feeling small, clutching his.

Sleep would drag him back under, then the dreams, and sometimes, he would float, as though he were outside of himself. It did not occur to him to try to speak. Didn’t think to ask where he was.

A voice. Deep and soothing, chasing the dreams away. He wanted to reach for it, to escape the fog. He couldn’t.

* * *

 

“Quinn,” Corvo quietly acknowledged the Whaler as he entered his quarters that night. “You been here all afternoon?”

Quinn shook his head. “Only the past two hours or so. Emily called me in to relieve her when she had to go back to her lessons.“ He made to get up from the chair tucked into a corner on Daud’s side of the bed, but Corvo motioned for him to stay while he set down a new stack of files on his desk.

“Stay, if you like. You’ve not had much time to see him.”

“No, I’ve been helping Captain Curnow coordinate with the construction crews moving into the Flooded District.”

“You’ve been doing good work,” Corvo repeated what he’d heard from Curnow as he crossed the room towards the bed. “Your captain speaks highly of you.” Kneeling on the bed beside Daud on the far side, unfazed by Quinn’s presence, Corvo took Daud’s wrist to measure his pulse and set the back of his hand against Daud’s forehead as he always did before he left and when he returned.

“His heart’s picking up, sir,” Quinn told him, perhaps glad for the distraction. “He hasn’t been talking since this morning, either, Emily told me to tell you. Do you think that means he’s going to wake up soon?”

“I hope so,” Corvo said quietly, brushing a few strands of hair away from Daud’s brow. “I hope so.”

There was a pause, but then Quinn spoke up. “Can I ask you something?”

Corvo looked up at his reluctant tone. “Of course.“

“If—when Daud wakes up… what’s going to happen to our Bond? I mean, it’s a right mess, isn’t it? Some of us could only bond with one of you, some with both of you, others probably wouldn’t take the Bond if it came from the Outsider himself…” Quinn trailed off. “What I mean is, sir, is it gonna go all screwy?”

Corvo bit back a smile at the earnest confusion on the young man’s face.

“Magic’s its own beast, Quinn,” he said instead. “Daud always said he could never control the Arcane Bond, and I’ve found it to be the same. For some of you, the Bond might shift back to him, or perhaps—perhaps he’ll have lost the ability. I simply cannot say, except that I hope that, especially for those of you who can’t share in mine, Daud’s return will mean a return of their powers as well. I know it can’t have been easy.“

Quinn looked pained. “No, boss. It wasn’t.”

Between them, Daud slept on.

***

He entered the world quite without warning. His lids were heavy, his arms and legs felt like they were tied down with lead weights; but he forced open his eyes. Blinked to adjust to the light that, though low, still hurt him. Something was gnawing at his insides. It could have been hunger, or the Void, or both, and he wouldn’t have been able to tell.

Did he still have a voice? He didn’t know.

“Hnnngh,” he said, because it was the first thing that came to mind, and it didn’t involve prying apart his jaw.

Somewhere to his left, dishes clinked loudly, and he winced.

“Daud?” That voice, the one he remembered from his dreams. There was panic inside it. “Daud.”

A shadow appeared, then the shape of a man, and when he blinked a few more times, more than a shape. A face, most of all. Dark eyes so filled with hope.

“You’re awake.” Hope became… something else, far too much like joy to be anything but another dream, and he wondered. Had anyone _ever_ looked at him like that?

Something of a question must have shown in his face, because hope was fading now, replaced with worry.

“Daud?”

“Hngh,” he said again. _No. Wrong. Try harder_. “Yes,” he managed, fighting against the fog still clouding his thoughts. “Stop sayin’ m’name like ’n idiot.” Void, this was not going well. His throat was itching, his voice raw with disuse.

“Do—do you remember mine?”

Still fighting to keep his eyes open, Daud squinted at him. “‘f course I do, Corvo, why—”

He stopped short, staring, when without warning tears began running down Corvo’s cheeks. Kneeling next to him on the bed, Corvo laughed, and cried, and tried to pull himself together. Daud tried to keep his eyes open, but the light in the room hurt too much after so long in the darkness. He squeezed them closed again, breathing out on a sigh.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…”

“Hold on, let me—let me get the lights,” Corvo said, his voice still strained. He got up off the bed, Daud listening him move around rather than watching. The lantern on the desk, then the one by the bed. “How about now?”

Daud slowly blinked. Only the remaining embers in the hearth were illuminating the room now. He nodded. Corvo came back to the bed, and sat down by his side again.

“What do you remember?“ Corvo was scared but asking anyway, Daud realised. That he might have lost his memories, or himself. He didn’t want to contemplate the panic that would have caused him — waking up, no-one but the Royal Protector weeping over his prone form and no earthly idea how he’d gotten there.

“I remember everything,” Daud murmured, to reassure them both. “The day I came t’warn you. The plan. The pub, the witches. The ritual, the Void. You.” ( _Us_ , he nearly continued but bit his lying tongue.)

“You came,” Corvo said roughly. “You came back.”

Slowly, Daud’s memories of the Void pieced themselves back together. Jessamine, the Outsider, Corvo. Himself, refusing. So many good reasons — so many bad ones, too.

And in the end, he’d come. He’d come home.

“How long?“ he rasped, raising his eyes to Corvo again.

“Five days. You were out for five days.”

Daud shook his head. “How _long_?”

Corvo’s eyes cast down, and Daud nearly regretted asking. But he had to know. Going soft was no excuse.

“Sixteen months, 1 week, and 3 days,” Corvo whispered.

It felt as though it might hurt to shrug, so he didn’t. Then, as if out to remind him that five days weren’t _enough_ , a yawn began so deep in his belly it hurt. His jaw cracked, and Corvo winced in sympathy.

“I should fetch Hypatia.” He made to get off the bed, but Daud grunted in dissent.

“’m fine.”

Corvo glared at him, but stopped moving. “You were unconscious for five days and delirious for three, you are not _fine_.”

“I will be, and the doctor can prod at me in th’morning.”

“You’re slurring your words.”

“I’m _tired_ ,” Daud shot back, making sure to over-enunciate as best he could, having only three syllables to make the point with.

“Daud—”

“In the morning, Corvo,“ Daud mustered what he could of any authority still left in his tired mind.

“Fine.” Corvo did scramble off the bed, then, stood, and dragged his hands over his face. “Fine.” Daud watched him turn and lift the blankets on what looked like a cot tucked in next to the bed, then drop them again, his shoulders slumping. Then he murmured, “Good night, Daud.“

Something creaked, only it wasn’t the bed (much as Daud would believe that any bed in Dunwall Tower ever creaked), and blankets rustled, only it weren’t the ones half-draped over Daud.

“Corvo?”

“Yes?” Corvo answered, turning onto his side.

“What are you doing?” _Had he slept all the past five nights like that?_

“Going to bed?”

“No, you’re going to _cot_.” Daud was not having it. He knew little else in that moment but that.

“Daud—”

“Get in the damn bed, Attano, unless you can’t stand to be seen with me,” Daud growled, ruthlessly shuttering any doubts. If Corvo didn’t _want_ to share the bed… it didn’t have to mean… they’d shared a bed _before_ , and it hadn’t mattered then.

Nothing moved for a moment.

“Galia was right.” More creaking, and rustling, then the mattress dipped under Corvo’s weight. “You’re a lousy patient.“

***

When Daud next woke, he felt slightly less like the Void had chewed him up and spat him back out — although, objectively speaking, it very well had — and more like he’d been tossed into a fighting ring with his hands tied behind his back and no powers. For this, too, he had a frame of reference, and he didn’t care to repeat the experience; for all that he was condemned to replaying the aftermath. Daud remembered times when pain had been all his body seemed to know.

The bed beside him was empty, and for a moment he wondered if he hadn’t hallucinated all of that. Wincing, he figured that might be doing him a favour, but then he recognised the second blanket on the bed. That had been on the cot before. Right. Corvo had joined him in the bed, inching closer, as if afraid he might hurt Daud or make him vanish or both. Daud loathed being treated as though he was fragile, but then it occurred to him that fairly no-one in his life ever had. The fact that that should keep him from barking at Corvo ought to serve to make him miserable, but Daud had, before, fancied himself a simple man. Give him coin, he killed, or something to that effect; and now, apparently, it was down to ‘care for him, and the wolf lost some of his teeth.’

What had he been _thinking_?

But Corvo had simply wrapped his hand around Daud’s arm, anchoring them both, and curled up next to him. Exhaustion dragging him back under, Daud hadn’t held out very long before falling asleep.

And now, it turned out, he hadn’t even heard Corvo get up. Spitefully, he wondered if Corvo had _blinked_ out of bed to avoid waking him. Rubbing his hands over his eyes to wipe away the grit, Daud slowly raised himself and pushed his body upright — well, mostly. He felt stronger now, but it was clear an undetermined amount of time in the Void had not done him any favours. He hadn’t gone to paunch, no, that much he could tell, but he felt… too light.

Looking down at himself, he recognised the shirt he was wearing as his, but was fairly certain it was not the one he’d gone to the Void in. Too clean, for one thing. Had Corvo kept..? Daud forced himself to abandon the thought and instead focused on getting bis bearings.

Taking stock that all of his limbs were still attached, something he’d sorely neglected the night before, Daud eventually thought to take a look around the room — and startled. This… wasn’t Corvo’s room. Craning his neck, Daud realised it was Corvo’s bed, but not where Daud had last seen it. The room was bigger, for once thing, and had a different layout. This was… oh.

It had to be Jessamine’s old rooms. Larger than Corvo’s, obviously, and more ornate. Not her study, that had been a separate room tucked into a corner on the second floor. Daud knew that Corvo and Emily hadn’t touched the Empress’ quarters after their return, and he hadn’t badgered them about it. Not his place, certainly. The room as it was now was unmistakably Corvo’s — Daud recognised the sword collection, now in glass display cases rather than mounted to the wall, and the desk that had nearly been too large for his old quarters.

Jessamine.

The weight of what he’d done came down on him then.

It hadn’t been a trade, she’d insisted, but what else could he believe of himself now, other than that he’d allowed Corvo to relinquish what little he’d had left of her? Oh, Void. Averting his eyes from the room, Daud’s gaze fell to the side — to the nightstand, upon which sat a folded piece of paper, quite obviously inscribed with his name. Well done on missing that.

> _Daud —_
> 
> _I had to run to an early meeting and didn’t want to wake you. I should be back by 10. I’ve sent for breakfast, if you’re hungry. If you need anything, call for Rulfio, he’s just outside._
> 
> _Corvo_
> 
> _P.S. I can’t wait to see you again._

Daud sighed even as his heart ached with knowing Corvo missed him. If it were that easy — if all there was to it were to speak to Corvo and sod the rest… but he was acutely aware that, following Corvo, there would be others. Emily, for starters, and what Whalers had remained at the Tower. How Corvo had convinced them, Daud would never know.

Heaving himself out of bed, Daud grunted when his legs protested at being expected to carry the paltry lot of him. His trousers had been taken off him and Daud found them folded on a chair by the dresser. Gnashing his teeth at having to sit down to put them on to avoid any… accidents, Daud got dressed, feeling marginally more like himself. Breakfast sat on a tray by the hearth: dark bread, apple slices, coffee mostly lukewarm but recognisable as such. Daud’s stomach growled, only he doubted he would be able to do it justice any time soon. He hadn’t actually… eaten in a while. He scorned himself for being too chicken to look at the bloody calendar by Corvo’s desk and confirm what Corvo had told him during the night. He had the vague notion he couldn’t quite remember what breakfast was like.

Eventually, he checked the clock in the corner by the bed: 9.30. Corvo would be back soon. Daud was a realist, most of the time, so he decided not to try for a bath just yet. Instead, he had some more food, chewing slowly and washing it all down with coffee. Then he checked for the bundle containing the rest of his clothes — speaking of, he was wearing neither boots, nor socks. The Void had only ever been cold, so the warmth of Corvo’s rooms was almost too much now. Still, he kept looking, and eventually found his things in one of the cabinets, right next to Corvo’s dress shirts, his boots and belts in the cupboard below. He reached out, but hesitated.

He had worn blue in the beginning, when he’d worked alone. Then he’d found apprentices, who’d worn grey, but then they’d improved and been assigned apprentices of their own. Contrary to popular belief, Daud hadn’t begun to wear red out of vanity, or to taunt the City Watch. He’d chosen red because it was visible, yes, and that included being visible to the enemy. But in a scrap, that would mean the novices would always be able to find him as he stood out against the guards and the Overseers, would know that where he was, it was safe. And if it wasn’t, it was him drawing the Overseers’ fire, not the children under his wing. As the years grew long, Billie had been given red to wear as well — as his right hand, she’d enjoyed the privilege of his confidence, but also shared the burden of his duties. If he couldn’t, she had been the one to lead the Whalers away from danger.

And now, that red coat was glaring at him, accusing him of his past. He had come back to face it, hadn’t he? Not to relive it. This coat had been the making of the Knife of Dunwall, had marked his ascent to being someone who might truly lead. But his Whalers wore blue and grey of a different shade now. The cats had changed their coats, and the wolf… had been relieved of his duties. Everyone knew the colour of his cur, and they would know him by it no matter how much time had passed.

Daud took his socks, his boots, removed the bone charms from their pouches. Then he closed and locked the cabinet. Corvo might decide what to do with it. He would need gloves, he decided, to return to the world, but not for now. He’d wasted enough time dithering, so he sat down on the edge of the bed to finish dressing. When he got done tightening his boots and wondered when had been the last time they’d been this shiny and free from river muck, the door opened. Head jerking up, Daud tried not to hold himself like a thief caught in the night. He wasn’t sure he managed.

“Daud,” Corvo breathed, and Daud felt a little better in the knowledge that Corvo was being as much of a fool about this as he was. “You’re awake.”

Daud nodded, then remembered that he’d so painstakingly established he could speak the night before.

“Thank you,“ he said, voice still hoarse. “For breakfast. I—”

He broke off when Corvo started walking towards him, strides long. With purpose. Before he quite know what to do, Corvo was standing before him, and one minute Daud was leaning back to look up at him, and the next Corvo was… kneeling in front of him. Daud blinked, and then Corvo’s hands were on his thighs, so heavy and warm.

“Hello,” Corvo said quietly, a smile playing at his mouth, his eyes never leaving Daud’s.

“Hello,” Daud parroted, swallowing thickly. When Corvo didn’t make any further move, Daud grew far too aware of his own hands. Before he could talk himself out of it, he lifted them to cradle Corvo’s cheeks, holding in his own sigh as Corvo breathed out deeply at his touch. Daud’s fingers wandered further, along his jaw and his neck, into Corvo’s hair, so much shorter now. They’d never talked about it in the Void, Daud loath to mention it. It’d seemed so banal, and it still did. But, Void, he looked _good_.

Both seemed content to look their fill, but eventually the silence threatened to swallow Daud whole. But what could he say? Apologise for things unsaid? Or those that he did say, and meant? He'd barely settled on one when Corvo beat him to it.

"Do you love me?" Corvo asked, his voice pitched so low Daud could barely hear him, in it a splintered echo of what he’d said to him in the Void to convince him to return. _If you ever cared for me..._

"Yes," Daud answered, and there was no hesitation, no doubt, only relief. He fought with himself, wanting to ask but unable to form the words. “Corvo—”

"Yes," Corvo proved that he knew him better, exasperation plain on his face and fondness in his eyes. "Would I have kept searching for you for so long if I didn’t?"

"You’re the sort of man who would," Daud said roughly, convinced of nothing but that, at least. "And knowing you is far more than I deserve."

“I love you, Daud,” Corvo rasped then, as if to contradict him. “And you deserve no less than that.”

Tired of words and acutely running out of wits, Daud instead wrapped his arms around Corvo’s neck, drawing him close enough to kiss, ignoring the twinge in his back when he bent down to meet him. Corvo’s arms were warm and strong around his waist. He wouldn’t let him fall.

When they broke apart, Daud whispered: “I got your note.”

Corvo huffed out a warm laugh, then pushed his nose under Daud’s jaw like an overgrown wolfhound pup. “I really couldn’t wait. And then I—I was standing outside the door, and… you were so deep asleep this morning, I was terrified you might be unconscious again.”

Daud shook his head. “The Void can’t have me back.” He deserved a flogging for his own foolishness, but he thought not of what had nearly kept him there in that moment. Only of what had drawn him out. The rest would follow soon enough. Daud knew himself that well.

“Good.”

For a long moment, Daud didn’t know what else to say. But there was more to be had here. “What now?”

Corvo, as if enjoying that for once Daud had the advantage of height over him, tightened the hold of his arms around Daud’s back and pressed his face into his shoulder. Daud caved and kissed his temple, then his cheek.

“They’ll all want to see you,” Corvo answered, pleasingly muffled by Daud’s shirt, his breath scorching through the fabric. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Well, I had to tell Rulfio, I think he may have dropped dead from fright if you’d called for him otherwise.”

Daud smiled into Corvo’s hair, but didn’t say anything.

“There’s so many things,” Corvo continued. “So many things you missed, so many things we need to tell you. But first, and I know you’ll hate it, but first I really want Hypatia to take a look at you.”

Daud sighed.

“I know. But we—Daud, we were worried your body might be rejecting the Mark,” Corvo pulled away to look up at him. “You nearly burnt up with fever during the first night. I asked… the Outsider hinted that it’s being subjugated by time again that was causing it, and as much as there’s no medicine against that, we need to make sure you’re not still sick.”

“Alright.”

Corvo raised an eloquent brow.

“The lousy patient agrees.”

That, at least, won him a smile. Corvo leaned in again, nuzzling Daud’s bare throat as he had before, breathing out long and slow. Daud let one of his hands slip from Corvo’s shoulder, rubbing his arm slowly, up and down. If only they could stay, like this.

But there was a whole world just outside.

“Can I see Emily first?”

He felt Corvo nod against his neck.

*

"Daud!" Emily slipped easily back into acting the excitable child that still lived within her, no matter how many council sessions tried to bore it out of her. Crossing the room at a near run, she barrelled towards Daud, and only seconds later collided with him, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle — she was getting taller, clearly taking after Corvo. Daud suspected they would be eye to eye before she was of age, at the least. Her face pressed against Daud's chest, he nevertheless saw her bright smile when he looked down at her. He returned the embrace, careful not to hold her too tightly, scarcely believing that she would want him to at all. He'd somehow convinced himself that she would have forgotten all about him — much less be happy to see him back in her city. But she'd been ten when he'd gone, old enough to remember every second, and clearly not given to aloofness now, or to reacting with indifference to his return.

Emily showed no sign of wanting to retreat, and his chest constricted with something he reluctantly identified as something far closer to happiness than life-threatening injury. For her, he’d been glad to pass into the Void. And while he could never be anything more than a shadow, visible just on the edges of the frame of history books that would be written about her life and reign, he hoped that now he might be able to show her, and her father, how much they both meant to him.

Remembering years ago, past the cold of the Void and the tooth of time, when she snuck into his office to demand he teach her, he murmured, "Hey, kid," just loud enough for her to hear, hoping she wouldn't take off an ear for the impertinence. He was in for a fright, instead, when she clutched him tighter and turned her face into his shirt. A small sob escaped her, loud in the quiet of the room. Daud let his eyes cut to Corvo in alarm, then looked down at the top of Emily's head. The last thing he'd wanted to do was cause her distress by dredging up old memories.

"I'm sorry, I… Em—“

"No!" she interrupted him, raising her head, pulling back so she could look at him properly. Her eyes were glistening with tears threatening to spill over, but her expression was determined. "It's not that, I'm not—I'm not sad," she said, smiling ruefully.

Now that he might see her face, Daud realised just how much she looked like Jessamine — except for her eyes and nose, which were undeniably Corvo's. But she was Jessamine's successor in more than name, and clearly every inch as kind. Even to him. And here he was, in her father's chamber, the scarred man who had come to them with a warning years ago, who had failed to protect her mother from the wolves and done his best to make up for his mistakes. Sharing a look with Corvo over the top of her head, he ached again when he saw the expression on Corvo's face.

Eventually, she let him go and stepped away from him, but her hand grasped his wrist and pulled him towards the chairs in front of the fire, and the reminder of the night he'd visited her and Jessamine at the Tower while Corvo had been travelling on his mission to ask for aid with the Plague was so stark he had to lower his head to hide his face for a moment.

"Corvo!" Emily called to her father, who had stayed by the door throughout their reunion, as though reluctant to intrude.

She pulled Daud towards the settee, then waited for Corvo to catch up.

"Sit," she instructed them, and they did. The settee was not built for three, precisely, especially not with Emily as tall as she was now, but the Empress, naturally, had no qualms. Instead, she waited until they were settled, and it was then that Daud noticed Corvo’s amused expression, face turned upwards.

Emily settled in her father’s lap and, obviously very satisfied with herself, leaned against Corvo’s chest, who took it in good grace, inured to being used as a paternal cushion. As he tried to be inconspicuous about putting one arm on the armrest of the settee and draping the other along the back, close to Corvo’s shoulder but not quite touching, Daud felt a smile tug at his mouth that he felt ill-equipped to hide. Looking away from her, he found Corvo already smiling at him, which did nothing to help him sort that out.

“I know you have questions,” he said instead, shifting his gaze to Emily, preempting the barrage he didn’t doubt he was in for, once the novelty of his being up and about at all had worn off. “And I’ll gladly answer them, but not all at once.”

“Corvo said there’d be things you probably don’t want to talk about,“ Emily told him earnestly, something so close to severity in her eyes.

Daud tilted his head. “Not everything belongs to you, Empress,” he said, only mostly teasing. “Certainly not other people’s pasts.”

“I know that,” she returned easily enough. “But the Abbey teaches that the Void is a threat to all of us. So what kind of Empress would I be if I didn’t protect my city, and my people?“ Mischief was something Emily had not yet mastered to conceal, and Daud could smell it on her a mile off — dealing with unruly novices half his life, he’d had plenty of practice.

“Well argued, Your Highness,” he decided to indulge her, and she let go of the masquerade and giggled. Corvo didn’t bother hiding his grin.

“I’m just so glad you’re back,” Emily said, her smile becoming wistful. “I missed you.”

Daud averted his eyes. He cast about for something to say, failing miserably, when suddenly the door opened. Head jerking up, Daud nearly clenched his fist reflexively, but then stilled at the sight that greeted him.

Half a dozen Whalers — guards. Staring at him.

Corvo had nearly dislodged Emily in swivelling around to face the intrusion (and give them a damn good hiding for just barging in, judging by his expression), but he, too, went still.

Rulfio appeared behind the others.

“I’m sorry,” he shrugged. “I couldn’t keep the secret anymore. This is everyone I could drum up and—”

Rulfio was cut off by those in front of him deciding that apologies were for the weak. Galia was the first to step forward.

“Boss,” she said, voice breaking, and if becoming an officer of the Watch had stripped her of her Whaler’s uniform, it was now that the last remains of her mask were taken from her. A mask she’d worn at his behest, and she’d let it go to see this through when he’d abandoned them all.

Before Daud quite knew what he was doing, he stood, rounding the settee.

“Fleet,” he greeted her, dimly recognising the roughness of his own voice.

Galia was a lot taller than Emily and practically made of muscle, Daud discovered when she flew into his arms, and he’d never felt closer to throwing out his back in his life.

“Fleet,” he growled.

“Later, old man.”

* * *

 

From then on, the news that Daud was awake spread quickly among the Whalers scattered throughout the Tower; as those Rulfio had fetched soon had to return to their posts but made sure to whisper the secret to anyone of theirs who they met on the way. Not all were as forward as Galia in their greeting, but Corvo had to avert his gaze, blinking rapidly, when Thomas simply and wordlessly took up his place at Daud’s right shoulder. Thomas had risked so much and received so little in return for his loyalty to Emily, to Corvo, and to Daud; and Corvo knew his feelings about Daud’s entrapment and return were too complicated to be resolved in a room like this. There was relief, but anger and disappointment, too, and it would be up to Daud to extend a hand.

It felt strange, seeing them back together after so long, when to all the world it looked like just another patrol briefing: Daud, standing in a circle of Whalers, his arms crossed over his chest and listening as they made their reports. It didn’t matter that he had relinquished his coat, or that the Whalers had lost their masks. Where, before, it had all felt wrong, now it looked… new. Strange, in some sense of the word, but right.

Judging by the way Daud smiled at him when no-one was looking, he agreed.

*

It was evening before Corvo finally managed to clear his quarters of assorted Whalers and sent one of them to fetch Hypatia. Behind him, Daud groaned.

“You’re going to let her poke you, prod at you, and take blood samples in the morning,” Corvo told him sternly. On the settee, Emily (who’d weaselled her way out of lessons for the day, even Callista too relieved at the news of Daud’s recovery to insist her schedule be kept) grinned at seeing him boss Daud around.

“Fine,” Daud scowled at him, “on one condition.”

“Name it,” Corvo challenged, confident enough.

Daud’s raised a brow. “You tell me exactly how you got your hands on Arcane Bond, and who of my men are now yours.”

Corvo swallowed. “You’re not pleased, I take it?” he asked, paying half a mind to Emily witnessing what might well become an embittered argument, if they had the mind for it. To his surprise, then , Daud dropped his arms and moved to lean against the back of the sofa.

He sighed. “It’s not my place to dictate what they do. They don’t work for me anymore; and even when they did, I never forced them into sharing my powers.”

“Neither did I,” Corvo told him quietly, walking closer and mirroring Daud’s position at the other end of the settee, Emily leaning over the back between them, watching them curiously.

“I know that,” Daud rasped, looking down. “I’d only hoped…”

“They’d say no?” Corvo suggested.

Daud shrugged, but it looked like agreement from where Corvo was standing.

“What about Curnow?”

“He knows.”

For a moment, the room was silent, until Emily decided it wouldn’t do.

“Rinaldo summoned rats that one time by accident and nearly scared the servants to death,” she supplied helpfully; and Corvo winced but then watched as Daud raised a hand to his face, shaking his head. His shoulders began to shake, too, and Corvo realised he was laughing, silently at first but then his voice suddenly filled the room and mended, bit by bit, the tears in Corvo’s heart.

*

After Hypatia had completed her examination, hidden behind the screens Corvo and Emily had unfolded and put up around the bed to give Daud some semblance of privacy, she told him to pace himself and _not_ to undertake any ‘experiments’ before she had a more thorough idea of his physical condition.

In leaving, she nodded at Corvo to walk her to the door, then waved him out into the deserted hallway.

“I told him but I’m telling you, too: don’t let him overexert himself,” Hypatia told him. Emily, who was hot on their heels, perked up.

“Don’t run too fast or you’ll throw up,” she exclaimed happily. At Corvo and Hypatia’s questioning looks, she shrugged. “Rinaldo used to say that to me when we lived at the pub.”

Hypatia looked as perturbed as Corvo felt, but nodded. “Something like that. He might have trouble with keeping his balance, more so if he uses his abilities. At least for the first few weeks, he shouldn’t be alone when training.”

“He can train with us, Corvo!” Emily put her hand on Corvo’s arm, tugging.

Hesitantly, Corvo nodded. “That might be not for another while, but… of course. If that’s his wish.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Daud called from inside the room, appearing behind Emily and crossing his arms again.

“Your blood pressure is too high for a man your age and supposed physical condition, given what you… do,“ Hypatia narrowed her eyes at him — Daud must have been truly recalcitrant to provoke her so. Daud raised a brow at her as if to protest having details of his bill of health tossed about in the open, but Hypatia continued, “You need rest. Seeing so many people today has already taken a toll, how do you think your body will react to Transversal? You need your strength and stamina back first.” Having said her piece, she turned on her heel and made her way down the hall.

Corvo looked to his right, finding Fergus standing guard and evidently trying very hard not to laugh. Looking to his left, he saw Emily with her head tilted back, grinning up at Daud — or, rather, his chin, as he was stubbornly not returning her gaze, glaring at Corvo instead.

“It was your idea, letting her treat me instead of Sokolov, wasn’t it?“

“I thought you might thank me,” Corvo quipped.

With an eye roll, Daud turned back into the room; but the way he rubbed at his brow when he went back to the settee spoke to the truth in Hypatia’s words. Corvo herded Emily back into the room, winking at Fergus as he went and closed the door.

*

Persuading Daud to at least eat a light dinner took some time, but eventually Corvo and Emily had him devouring broth with some fresh dark bread and tea; and then it was Callista who interrupted them to fetch Emily. Emily complained, Corvo looked pointedly at the grand clock, and Daud hid a yawn behind his hand.

“Fine,“ Emily pouted, kissing Corvo on the cheek and briefly taking Daud’s other hand in hers before pausing and leaning in to give him another hug. “Good night, Daud.”

“Good night, Emily.”

Corvo watched her and Callista go, knowing Fergus would escort them to Emily’s quarters before returning to his post; and then scooted closer to nudge Daud’s shoulder with his.

“Bed?”

The excitement of the day evidently catching up with him, Daud merely nodded.

“Come on,” Corvo said as he stood, offering Daud his hand. Daud eyed him for a moment, but then let Corvo pull him up from the sofa, making a low sound of surprise when Corvo used the opportunity to steal a brief kiss. Daud blinked.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

Corvo smiled, something in his chest aching. Daud smiled back but didn’t say anything else, and Corvo knew he had to be beyond exhausted to turn into the nonverbal mess he usually only was very early in the mornings; and to smile at Corvo quite like this. Corvo wondered — had it really only been that morning that they’d finally sorted out the tangled mess between them? He could still scarcely believe it, could still scarcely believe he’d had the courage to _ask_. But Daud had come _home_ , and Corvo had been so tired of not being honest with him. Besides… he’d made a promise.

He led Daud across the room by the hand, and let go only to fold up the cot — to make his intentions absolutely clear. Daud did not protest, sat on the edge of the bed to unlace his boots instead. Corvo got started on his outer layers, beginning with the wrist strap. He must have caught Daud’s attention, as he heard him clear his throat. Turning to acknowledge him, Corvo hummed a question of his own.

“Emily was wearing a ring,” Daud explained what had caught his interest. “I can’t remember her mother ever wearing one. Or emperors before her.”

Corvo shook his head, uncertain if the slightly more indirect reference to Jessamine served to settle him or to stoke the guilt still lingering.

“A signet ring,” he told him. “It opens a series of hidden locks throughout the Tower, but most importantly Emily’s safe room in her chambers. Sokolov installed the locks, Piero made the rings.”

“Where’s yours?” Daud asked, too observant for his own good, and Corvo had to bite down on a smile. Corvo drew the chain he wore it on out from underneath his shirt.

“Until Emily is of age and I can acknowledge her as my child, it would be unwise for me to wear it openly. It’s her seal,” Corvo explained.

Daud nodded, and didn’t say anything else. Slowly, they undressed, Daud ending up in his shirt and borrowed underwear. Corvo put on an undershirt and linen bottoms to sleep, following Daud’s lead without question or doubt, then went about extinguishing the lights. Daud made to get into bed, but then halted, rounded the foot of the bed, and got in on the other side.

“You don’t have to,” Corvo murmured.

“Your side’s the left,” Daud repeated what Corvo had told him so long ago in convincing him to stay close so Corvo could keep an eye on him when he was injured. Corvo’s heart felt full even as it soared. He slipped under the covers, reaching for Daud instinctively, who shifted close and let Corvo draw him into his arms.

“Welcome home,” Corvo whispered into his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) I TOLD YOU THERE'D BE SCHMOOP. I TOLD YOU.  
> b) CORVO EVEN SAID THE L-WORD. HAPPY NOW???  
> c) Bless Emily for being a wellspring of mischief and happy thoughts. God knows her Dads need it, even aftER FINALLY CONFESSING, DID I MENTION?  
> d) otp: confesses — the Internet: yaaaaaaaaaasssss
> 
> If you want to read the previous entries of this series on vacation, here's your chance:  
> # [eBook masterpost](https://screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse.tumblr.com/post/170754417480/assassins-dont-take-sides-ebook-masterpost)
> 
> Also, please consider this:  
> # Wonderful art of [Daud doing the accounting and very, very much hating paperwork](http://bid-art.tumblr.com/post/170212400999/the-numbers-arent-adding-up-and-there-are-no-new). By my darling BID.  
> # These two precious drawings of [Daud and Pirate Whalers](https://darthfluff.tumblr.com/post/170695159883/screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse-s-fault), to accompany Chapter 10 of Who By Fire. By darthfluff.


	12. Bonus Outtake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> too much schmoop wtf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, to tide you lot over until the 22nd and also because I love this scene too much to just let it hit the cutting room floor, here's a super schmaltzy outtake from Chapter 11. It doesn't fit with the overall direction for the chapter anymore, and I've already got another Super Cute Scene for Chapter 12, so......... here you go. Call your goddamn dentists, I can't be responsible for all the cavities.
> 
> I FORGOT IT WAS VALENTINE'S DAY FOR LIKE TEN MINUTES OK THIS WAS NOT PLANNED. Frick.

“Who’s the meeting with?” Daud asked, picking up the _Courier_ and tucking it under his arm.

"Bennington," Corvo told him, well aware he sounded as though he had quite lost the will to live to boredom and bureaucracy. Nevertheless he got up, gathered his papers and his face, and on his way out stopped by the chair Daud had claimed as his for the morning.

Lord Bennington was, simply put, a pain in the ass, and Corvo rather regretted not being able to tell him so in open council. Emily did, by only answering half of his letters and inquests. But she was the Empress — such was expected.

"Perhaps you'd like to send me ahead to put some fear of my Lord Protector in him next time," Daud said pleasantly, and Corvo laughed and kissed his cheek, then left for the meeting.

The meeting in itself was uneventful, really; Lord Bennington irate over some trade policy or other and Corvo relegated to smoothing ruffled feather until the bird quite stopped squawking.

It was three hours later, as he was walking down the stairs in the foyer on his way to a meeting with Curnow, that he nearly tripped over his own boots, stopped, and turned around. Making his way up to his quarters, he found Daud still there, poring over the latest reports and decimating a plate of scones.

"You're supposed to be—“ was all Daud had time to say before Corvo bent down to be at level height, one hand on the back of the chair and the other on Daud's knee, and kissed the crumbs off his lips. The noise Daud made was too surprised to be gruff and too low to be protest, so Corvo kept kissing him, chastely, until he was satisfied. Pulling back, he came face to face with a man presently rather hot under the collar.

"What was that for," Daud accused, his voice far too rough for the time of day.

"You love me," Corvo told him triumphantly.

Daud looked at him as though he'd lost at least half of his marbles.

"You're only getting that now?" he asked, somewhat mocking, but Corvo recognised the hidden insecurity in his eyes. He swooped in quickly to steal another kiss — for reassurance.

"I got it a while ago," he told him softly, "but what you said this morning didn't quite... register."

"Ah," Daud said, so carefully neutral. "Well, it was rather oblique. Perhaps I should... dispense with subtlety in the future?"

"Oh no," Corvo told him, grinning. "Be as subtle as you like."

Daud smiled slightly. “As you wish. My Lord Protector.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He said *MY* LORD PROTECTOR ermahgerd
> 
> Also: hugs and kisses and smooches to everyone who lost their shit over Sunday's chapter. I can't say I don't enjoy putting y'all through slow burn hell and angst, but it was really lovely to see you all so happy that our two big dumb losers finally confessed.
> 
> Also-also: punch drew [this amazing thing](http://thepunchlineislesbian.tumblr.com/post/170811948239/fanart-and-love-letter-to) and you should all go look at it.


	13. Chapter Nine — If You Should Ever Track Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud considers the future. It’s not all he does, but some of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I said you’d have to wait until the 22nd, but I just saddled myself with another wonderful AU idea, I’ve edited this thing half to death, I’m travelling for work again, and posting now will free up my Thursday for other dumb stuff, SO HERE YOU GO. I need to wash my hair before I go to bed.
> 
> Music: Winter Ghosts by JBM

The first few days after Daud’s return to the world did their best to pass so quickly it felt, ironically, as though time had ceased to matter. Daud was caught in a loop of disorientation at waking in unfamiliar surroundings — disorientation at waking at all, as the Void had never compelled him to rest; which only deepened his body’s sudden, rediscovered need for it — and reminding himself that he had indeed returned, then invariably remembering that he had come back to a world that had raced on without him for over a _year_.

Any plans he might have had before all this, before he’d failed, were null and void. His Whalers, whom he’d sought to lead out of this wretched city, had sunk the their roots even deeper into it, serving the Empress they’d been sent to dethrone. They’d gotten attached — and Daud knew all about attachment. He wondered if they’d ever forgiven him. For his, for their own. Wondered if, the longer it took, they hadn’t wished for him to stay gone.

Effectively, Daud was hiding. Emily’s Court was not to know he had returned or, rather, was still alive. Upstairs in the royal family’s private quarters, he enjoyed a modicum of safety, even more so for his Whalers guarding the halls rather than ordinary Watch officers. For the maids and stewards, Corvo’s rooms were temporarily off-limits due to ‘safety concerns’ (some likely cock-and-bull story about Corvo installing a variety of traps to test the new recruits), but they couldn’t stay that way; no matter how much they might want to stay hidden — together. Daud scoffed at himself as he stepped out of the shower. It hadn’t even been a week, and he’d gotten pathetically used to waking in Corvo’s arms every day. Corvo seemed to suffer equally, as just this morning he had greeted Daud by kissing his neck and pressing against his back in unmistakable intention before flinching away.

“I, uh,” he’d stammered, barely awake. “I’m sorry.”

Daud, blinking to bring the world into focus and using the time to sort out the whiplash, grunted. “Don’t be,” he said lowly, turning onto his other side to follow Corvo’s warmth.

“We haven’t,“ Corvo started, breaking off when Daud leaned up to kiss him chastely. When Daud pulled away, he tried again: “And I don’t want you to feel like—” Daud kissed him again — “just because we—” another kiss, another interruption — “Daud!”

Daud grinned at Corvo’s indignation at being cut off. As blind as they had been in handling their regard for one another, Daud remembered Corvo’s unabashed need for him very clearly; and had been feeling his own mount slowly as he regained his strength. Daud knew that Corvo would never demand _anything_ of him, let alone in this.

“I should be telling you,” Daud muttered after a moment, watching Corvo frown in confusion. “For me, one minute it feels like a day, another it feels like forever. For you, it’s _been_ a year.“

Understanding dawned on Corvo’s face, but then his eyes darkened with what, before, Daud never would have dared to call _longing_.

“I want you,” he whispered. “My feelings and wishes have not changed. There will always be a place for you here, Daud, and it’s by my side.”

Daud swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “And what if I hadn’t come back?”

"I knew you would," Corvo said, and if it tasted of false bravado against Daud’s lips, he wouldn’t say a word. Eventually, he dragged himself out of the kiss, then slung a leg over Corvo’s hip underneath the covers, rather enjoying the way his breath hitched and having to calm his own at feeling Corvo’s untempered arousal.

“I’ll have you, Attano,” he promised, his voice rough with more than sleep; feeling the shudder that went through Corvo at the words. “Anywhere you want,” he whispered into the curve of Corvo’s neck, pressing a kiss against the thundering pulse. “Soon as I’m not one strong Wrenhaven gust away from keeling over,” he finished wryly, smirking when Corvo snorted involuntarily, then nodded.

“And I believe,” Corvo began, mischief dancing in his eyes now as he drew Daud even closer, “I promised you dinner, before all this.”

Daud remembered only all too well. When Corvo had reached for him on that ship… it’d been the last time before everything had gone howling into the Void.

“You did. I remember.” He kissed him again.

Back in the present, Daud shook his head to clear the cobwebs. He had breakfast to get to, and then a meeting, and Corvo had let him have the first shower and Daud was valiantly _not_ thinking about what Corvo might have done to, well, relieve himself in his absence. It had been difficult enough not to simply throw all sense out the window and drag Corvo along with him, but Daud knew well enough he wasn’t ready yet. If—when they rekindled that passion, he wanted to give Corvo more than a hurried roll in the sheets; he wanted to… give him the _night_ he’d once promised. He was a fool, he knew, a lovesick one at that, but perhaps they were all fools in love. Corvo didn’t seem to mind, at any rate.

Chancing a glance in the mirror, Daud saw that the shadows under his eyes were less pronounced than they’d been only days before, and that he looked… content. He could still scarcely believe that Corvo wanted him, needed him — loved him. But some of the trouble had gone from his eyes, even he could see that, and Corvo was the one who’d taken it. Daud never would have tried.

And to tell the damn truth, he dreaded stepping out into the world. As much as they couldn’t go on like this, Daud hidden away in Corvo’s chambers like a dirty little secret, Daud feared the endless reverberations of enduring Dunwall’s bustling streets, or even just its shadowed alleyways. After so long — even if it hadn’t _felt_ like a year had passed, Daud was all too conscious of its passing now — in solitude, Daud ought to be surprised he handled _Corvo’s_ near-constant presence as well as he did. But then, it had been the one thing he’d craved when the Void had given him everything else to fear and nothing else to lose. But even spending time with the Whalers, he felt the weight of their expectations, of his own, of plans failed and forgotten. He didn’t begrudge them that, under Corvo’s guidance, they had changed; but he did, perhaps, begrudge them their certainty that he hadn’t.

***

Hours later, Daud’s head was buzzing with the amount of information he’d been given. Reports, maps, and notes were strewn across the council table, some more thumbtacked to the walls behind him. Emily and Corvo had commandeered the long table that usually served as a conference table during staff advisor meetings or as a dining table for banquets and state dinners, and brought out everything they needed from the archives, hidden behind a set of doors to the left now, to bring Daud up to speed.

Parliamentary factions, policies, the blockade finally being lifted a few months ago, the Flooded District, the gangs, the witch trials, the situation in Tyvia…

Daud cleared his throat, looking up from the cup of coffee he’d retreated into when Corvo had stopped Emily from launching into the finer details of the whale oil conflict and called for a break. Emily, for her part, had been called away by Callista — the tailor had arrived for a fitting. The Empress, Daud found, was growing like a beanstalk.

“First things first: who took the contract to get rid of Lord Sutherland?”

Corvo was clearly biting down a smile, seeing as Daud had asked every question under the sun _but_ _that_ during the past four or so hours; until now, when Emily had been out of the room for less than five minutes. He did not challenge Daud; presumably, Corvo hardly talked about the wet work he’d done for Jessamine, either. There would come a time when they’d have to, they both knew. But not yet. Gathering himself up from his chair, he reached across the table to give an experimental tug on the appropriate file. It slid free from underneath half a dozen maps of the city.

“After the Whalers left and things settled down in the voting blocks, your old competitors realised they were in with a chance,” Corvo summarised neatly what Daud would have imagined to be an absolute clusterfuck roiling in Dunwall’s back alleys. “We’re not sure — perhaps they learnt something from you when it comes to discretion.”

Daud scoffed. “Unlikely. You can smell Huntley from a mile away, and Fahrut is good, but she hires too many sell-swords to run a sustainable operation.”

“So did you.”

“I didn’t hire them — if you’re for hire, you can choose which job to take. The few of those that worked for me, they never stayed for long. The last of them left before I came to you and Jessamine.”

“Not all of the remaining Whalers stayed after Brigmore, either.”

“And they were right to leave,” Daud decided. “Even if they were loyal to me, they were under no obligation to watch my memory fade because I was foolish enough to jump into a witch’s painting. Not even for Emily. I taught them not to let sentiment get in the way of a job. You might say those that left actually listened.”

“So those who stayed are bad assassins?“ Corvo tilted his head, something like a smile tugging at his curious expression.

“As much as anyone should want to be a good one,“ Daud returned.

“And you were the best,“ Corvo said softly.

For a long moment, Daud couldn’t speak. “Was I?“

***

“Thomas,” Daud called his former lieutenant as he walked into the library that night, having eluded the servants and other guards.

“Sir.” Thomas stood at attention, but Daud waved that away. He sat in the armchair placed at an angle to Thomas’.

“You’re not my second anymore.”

Thomas averted his gaze as he sat. “No, suppose I’m not.”

Daud internalised a sigh. He hadn’t known to expect Thomas to be difficult — except he wasn’t being _difficult_ , was he. He was giving Daud the welcome he deserved. They had barely spoken since Daud had returned to the waking world, as it were, and when they did, Thomas was as polite as ever. That, Daud had decided, was the problem.

“Thomas…“ Daud’s problem was, he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know how to fix anything.

Thomas, for all his anger, was still reliable; and still far too eager to balance out his many shortcomings.

“I couldn’t be happier that you’ve returned,” Thomas said quietly. “But it doesn’t change… you were gone for so long.”

“Thomas—”

“Seven days, Daud. Corvo told us you had seven days to make up your mind, and you used up all of them. It felt like you’d abandoned us, and I _hate_ that I’m accusing you of that.”

Daud felt something like pride in his chest even as Thomas’ words hit home, because he couldn’t escape the notion that Billie had accused him of the same thing once. And again, Daud had put Corvo and Emily above everything else, and here Thomas was, suffering for it on behalf of all remaining Whalers. In both Billie and Thomas, this marked their ability to lead. Billie’s betrayal had been expected, and the way she’d done it her only way out in the situation they’d been in. What Thomas lacked was, perhaps, ambition, something that had driven Billie from the first and that had made her a natural first choice to be Daud’s right hand, even knowing it might be his downfall one day. It was the life they’d led, and it was this new life now that afforded Thomas different choices. But still he’d made them. Corvo had told him of Thomas’ doubts, of the burden on his shoulders as he tried to keep the Whalers together after Daud’s disappearance; becoming Corvo’s right hand as he’d been Daud’s. A task beyond his years, and yet he’d mastered it.

“You’re right to,” Daud told him bluntly. Finally, Thomas looked up at him.

“You sacrificed everything.”

“Not everything.” At Thomas’ disbelieving look, Daud added, “I’m still alive. This would be a different story if I’d had a hole in my chest; or if Delilah had had a mind to kill me in the Void. I didn’t, but not for lack of trying.”

To his surprise, Thomas let out a short laugh. “Stop trying?” he asked, smiling just a little, but it was a smile without joy.

“You know how promises like that work in this world,” Daud rumbled, but when Thomas’ eyes shuttered and he moved to withdraw, he stumbled over his words and blurted, “so help me try.”

It was Thomas’ turn to be surprised. He waited, but had to know it wouldn’t do to wait for Daud to repeat himself. So instead, Thomas nodded.

“I will.”

Daud studied him for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Sir.” Thomas was sincere, but the moment had passed.

“Stop that. You’re Corvo’s Watch liaison. It’s him you need to get up for — him, and Curnow.” Daud paused. “How’s that working out, by the way?”

Thomas blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “Captain Curnow?”

“Times were we shouldn’t have liked to be in the same room with him. Then he helped us with Campbell, and with Burrows and Timsh. Now he’s your superior.”

“He wasn’t too sure of us in the beginning, but I think he warmed up to us.”

“Warmed up to you?” Daud couldn’t quite contain his amusement.

“Well, sir, after about two months, he bothered learning our names,” Thomas delivered blithely; then added: “Not that he didn’t know them before, but he let us know we hadn’t earned them yet before that.“

“What did he call you before?“

“Nothing. He just pointed.”

Daud let out a snort, which in turn drew an earnest smile from Thomas.

“He trusts us not to cut and run, sir. And he, um—”

“Knows about your enhanced skillset?” Daud spared him the search for an appropriate euphemism. “I know, Corvo told me.” He shot Thomas a look. “Do you trust him?” He wanted Thomas’ opinion first, before seeking out the man himself.

“I do.”

“Good. And now tell me what you’re still doing here, your shift ended two hours ago.”

“Research,” Thomas answered, turning what he was reading so Daud could take a look. “Have you seen these?”

Daud picked up the pamphlet and read the title.

**THE OUTSIDER IS DEAD.**

“No. No, I haven’t.”

*

“Why didn’t you show me?” Daud pointed an accusing finger at the pamphlet he’d slapped down on Corvo’s desk. Corvo suppressed a sigh.

“They started appearing months ago,” he began to explain.

Daud interrupted him, clearly too impatient to wait for details. “Well, who’s spreading them?“

“An anonymous group of thrillseekers. They work against the Abbey, not the Outsider.“

“By proclaiming his death?”

“Have you actually read it?“

“No.” Daud had the nerve to look obstinate.

Corvo tilted his head. “Then you should. And this.” He turned to look at the shelves behind him, scanning the titles. “Here.” He tossed a copy of Sokolov’s latest work at Daud, who caught it swiftly and glared at the cover.

“The Hungry Cosmos?“ Daud asked dubiously. “That old coot’s never met a self-aggrandising title he didn’t like.”

“Read it.” At Daud’s somewhat disgusted impression, he added, “Don’t worry, your opinion of him won’t feel compelled to improve.“

> THE OUTSIDER IS DEAD
> 
> _The Abbey tells us that the Void is filled with swarming creatures and dangerous spirits; forces bent on corrupting man and devouring us all when our time has come. Sokolov tells us that the Void birthed the world, but that the Void will kill us, too; that we are hurtling through space on an endless voyage into oblivion. The Abbey’s response to this is to urge us to lead peaceful lives, to save one’s soul from the Void. The Abbey urges us to reject the Outsider, that shadow the Void has cast o’er all our lives. They Abbey kills those who wander from the path._
> 
> _We reject these notions. We reject the spectre, the god walking among us that the Abbey uses to frighten those it was meant to protect._
> 
> _ The Outsider is dead. _
> 
> _As we stare into the abyss of nothingness in which all being sinks, we see that it is not the Void that corrupts the world and us, nor its eye. The Abbey cannot scare us anymore, but neither can it save us. We are onto ourselves corrupted, and revel in our shortcomings as in our so-called sin. Our lives will end, and so will the world we live in._
> 
> _We will make the most of the time we have._

*

“So… thrillseekers?” Daud asked, letting book and pamphlet drop into his lap.

Corvo looked up from his own paperwork. “Judging by the rise in drunk and disorderly conduct reports outside of the Fugue Feast… yes.”

“Did you… speak to Him about this?” Daud felt foolish to ask, but did so to satisfy his curiosity nonetheless.

“No,” Corvo answered, looking mildly uncomfortable. “I didn’t think this could have been the first time something like this made the rounds.”

Daud frowned. “Then why have Thomas researching it?”

“Did I mention the drunk and disorderlies?“ Corvo seemed more amused now, but his demeanour quickly changed again. “We need to know who they are, if just to keep an eye on the situation. If they stick to manifestos, scholarly disputes, and the occasional drunk prank, I don’t see the harm, but the Abbey and the Oracular Order will see this differently, of course.”

“They’re not demanding the Crown track them down?“ Daud growled.

“No, Khulan wouldn’t do that,“ Corvo shook his head. “But he is worried nonetheless, and perhaps not entirely wrong to be. They probably don’t know it, but the Abbey might not be the only ones they’re picking a fight with.”

“Why?“ Daud would admit to feeling intrigued.

“I’ve received reports from Karnaca,” Corvo replied. “In searching for a way into the Void, I had to cast rather a wide net to procure information.”

“You sent agents to Serkonos? While the blockade was still in effect?” Daud questioned.

“It was risky, I admit, but… I’d do it again,” Corvo didn’t avoid his gaze, but Daud had to work not to avert his own.

“What did you find?”

“There are reports of cults worshipping the Outsider from all over the Isles,” Corvo began, and Daud nodded. He knew well enough — had had run-ins with some of them during his travels before settling back in Dunwall. “Little is known about Pandyssia, and Morley is too drab and Tyvia too secluded to let much get out. But Karnaca is steeped in the old faith, that much hasn’t changed since we were children.”

Daud felt something akin to surprise — in all their time together, they’d never actually spoken about their time in Karnaca. Daud had already been gone by the time Corvo had won the Blade Verbena. He could not help but wonder now, what might have changed if he’d been in the arena to see him fight that day. Could he have persuaded him to join him?

Something occurred to him then.

“You’ve read… about my mother?” A swift change of subject yet again, but he needed to know.

If it startled Corvo, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stood. “Come with me.“

Daud followed — out of Corvo’s office, down the hall and into what used to be the spare bedrooms, one of which Daud had occasionally slept in. Drawing a bundle of keys from his coat, Corvo glanced up and down the hall, then unlocked the door and beckoned Daud inside, turning on one of the lights as he went.

“I’ve removed the traps when you returned. Do you—do you still have your key?”

Truth be told, it had not occurred to Daud to check. But he supposed he did.

“In my coat,” he said quietly, taking in the room.

“Your archives,“ Corvo said quietly, setting a hand on the lid of a shipping crate, the kind the Whalers had used to move to the Hound Pits. “It’s all here.“

“You’ve read it all,” Daud didn’t have to ask. He knew by the look on Corvo’s face.

Corvo nodded. “I have.“ He tilted his head. “It told me nothing I didn’t already know,” he said, so gently, as if Daud were worthy of any such comfort at all.

Daud knew he was a monster. Had known it since the day he’d plunged a knife through the eye of a man who’d taken his mentor and felt no remorse. He’d known it every moment he’d ever spent with Corvo, every second in the Void and since his return; only it was too easy to pretend he didn’t when he slept wrapped around Corvo’s body. But now, with his life set in dissoluble ink before him… there was an indelible stain on his soul. He’d come back to lighten it, but he wasn’t so naive to think that it would ever wash off.

Perhaps Corvo expected protest, for all that he’d known Daud’s distress for what it was; but Daud merely compelled himself to nod. Accepting even just a sliver of absolution…

“What about those cults, then?” he asked, returning to where they’d started down this road.

“They won’t take kindly to proclamations that the god they worship is dead, even if it is just a phase,” Corvo explained. “So we’re keeping an eye on them, too.”

“Better make it two,” Daud advised, gritting his teeth. “Those I’ve met, I didn’t particularly like.”

Corvo nodded, then paused. “What about… all this? It’s yours.”

Daud shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere to put it, do I?” He didn’t say he wasn’t even sure if he wanted any of it back at all. Now was not the time to have _that_ conversation.

As expected, Corvo’s eyes softened. “You can leave it here as long as you need. No-one else has the key.”

Daud’s chest ached. Another reminder that Corvo had never seemed to give up on him. How would Daud have ever convinced him to? The thought should make him angry. Instead, it just made him weak.

***

The next morning, Hypatia joined Corvo, Daud, and Emily for breakfast and delivered her report on Daud’s health over scones and jam.

“I’ve thoroughly tested Daud’s blood and tissue samples,” she reported. “He’s not afflicted with the Plague, nor any other infectious disease that we have testing protocols for. Monitoring his vitality over the past week, I can confirm that his condition has been improving. With more rest, he can soon begin training again, provided he go slowly. Be patient, please.”

“What about…” Daud trailed off and lifted his left hand in lieu of finishing the question.

“Patience,” Hypatia repeated. Daud sighed, and Corvo understood his dissatisfaction with that answer; even as Daud had confided in him days ago that he didn’t feel as strong as he should, certainly not strong enough to shoulder the full burden of the Void. Corvo felt his cheeks warm a little at another unbidden memory, of another day, of other things Daud did not yet have the… stamina to do. Corvo had been mortified at his actions that morning, blindly reaching for Daud in a sleepy haze, following only the call of his body instead of his senses. Even if Daud had professed to desire him still, Corvo knew it was not that simple.

Later, in Corvo’s quarters, Corvo asked one question he’d avoided thus far.

“What about your connection to the Void? Does it feel… different?”

Daud shook his head, reflexively circling his left wrist with his right hand, flexing the joint. “It’s not stronger, for all the time I spent trapped in it. But it’s not weaker, either. I’ve not been back since, mind. Have half a mind never to try, not that that will stop the bastard from pulling me out of my dreams. But so far, he hasn’t.”

“While you were unconscious… when we found you, your Mark was flickering. It settled when the fever broke,” Corvo told him. He doubted they would ever truly be able to explain any of it. “Hold on. You sensed the Arcane Bond between me and the others when we were all in the same room. Would you have been able to do that before?”

Daud shrugged. “I’m not sure. Did you sense mine?”

“Sometimes,” Corvo frowned, trying to remember. “I could sense when it was active, when you summoned one of them. But apart from that it was never more than a low hum.”

“Who’s got yours?” Daud asked then.

“Thomas, Rinaldo,” Corvo began to tick off an imaginary list. “Galia, Misha, Fergus, Hobson. Quinn. Jenkins. Montgomery. That’s all of them.”

Daud raised a brow in surprise. “Rulfio’s didn’t take?”

“No.”

“Strange. He picked it up the fastest, after… after Billie.”

“If—if you still have the ability, would you let the others share your powers again?” Corvo hazarded to ask. He realised this wasn’t just about what the Whalers might want; it was equally, and more, about what Daud was willing — and able — to give.

Daud drew breath to speak, but then stopped himself, looking away. Eventually, he said, “I don’t know. It’s… it’s an intrusion unto your own powers that either you get used to or you don’t. You let others share that connection to the Void, you can’t know what happens. It makes us stronger, but this tether can’t be anything but fragile in the scheme of things. I got used to it. So did you.”

“You wished the others had said no. To me,” Corvo concluded.

“No. Yes,” Daud admitted, rubbing his brow. “You have to understand, I was… I was going to cut them loose.” Here, he raised his eyes to meet Corvo’s again, his expression pained.

“You were what?“

“After leaving Dunwall, if this whole mess with Delilah hadn’t happened the way it did, I was going to let the Bond fade, or make it disappear if necessary. I wanted a better life for them than being shackled to the Void, or to me. They deserve to be free.“

“They are free,“ Corvo insisted softly. “They could have left at any time, there are not bound to you, or to Emily and me, or this Tower. But they stayed to see you returned to them, and they’re no closer to leaving now that you have.”

“Is that freedom,” Daud asked, “or foolishness?”

“Sometimes you have to make a fool of yourself to be happy,” Corvo ventured, leaning forward and into Daud’s space. Catching his smile, Daud rolled his eyes reflexively, but still met him halfway to kiss him briefly, surprising Corvo, who hadn’t actually been angling for one — not that he’d deny him.

“This is all moot if I can’t use my powers anymore, and there’s only one way to find out.” Daud straightened, motioning for Corvo to step aside. “Coming through.”

“Are you—” Corvo began, but didn’t even get to finish his sentence when Daud clenched his fist and, without preamble, summoned his powers. A second later, he appeared at the opposite end of the room, a flutter of Void-like ash in his wake. Daud turned, and shrugged.

“That wasn’t so—oh.” Daud stopped himself, setting a hand to his stomach in a gesture Corvo normally associated with food poisoning rather than Void training.

“Daud?” Corvo instinctively reached for him, stepping closer, but Daud raised his hand, halting him.

“No, that’s not—fuck.” With another curse, Daud set off towards the bathroom. On foot, Corvo noted, following him. He shouldered his way through the doorway only seconds after Daud, who was already bent over the sink, retching.

Settling on his forearms, bent down and his head hanging low, Daud breathed out with a snort. Throwing up was never anyone’s most dignified moment. Then, he opened the taps and let the water run, gathering some in his palms to rinse his mouth and wash his face. Corvo handed him a towel from the rack, but held himself back otherwise. Daud, still leaning on the sink but not oblivious to his hovering, cut him a glance.

“Go on,” he rasped, giving half a jerk of his head.

Thus encouraged, Corvo stepped closer and set his hand on Daud’s back, between his shoulder blades, the way he’d once used to in surreptitious greeting. Swallowing, Corvo splayed his fingers, feeling — savouring — the warmth of Daud’s skin through his shirt. Finally ordering himself to move, he began rubbing his hand slowly up and down Daud’s spine. Watching his face from the side, he saw Daud’s drawn expression. He knew Daud’s reluctance did not come from fearing comfort or despising it, but from thinking himself undeserving of any kindness; and, worse, from his past. The Knife of Dunwall could never afford showing weakness. It was a hard habit to shake.

“Are you in pain?“ he asked softly.

Daud shook his head no, but didn’t speak.

“What about your Mark?”

Daud repeated the gesture, some irritation settling into the downward tilt of his mouth. Corvo nodded.

“I’ll bother you with more questions later,” he tried to keep it light. Judging by the way Daud huffed and leaned into Corvo’s side, he’d succeeded. “Come on.” Lightly tugging on Daud’s shoulder now, Corvo moved towards the door. Daud let himself be hauled along, depositing the towel in the hamper on the way. He still looked a little green around the gills.

Corvo took his hand and pulled him along to the settee.

“Sit,” easily falling back into a pattern of one-word encouragement that seemed to work well when Daud was particularly tired or overworked. Corvo had employed the tactic long before they’d realised their feelings for one another, back during late nights at the Hound Pits poring over reports and maps; Corvo pressing mugs of coffee or plates of food into Daud’s hands instead of more paperwork. In hindsight, he should’ve known something was taking shape between them when Daud hadn’t barked at him to get out right then.

To his mild surprise, Daud did as he was bid, still keeping his mouth clamped shut. Corvo chose to ignore that and instead unfolded one of the blankets. Daud raised a brow. Corvo settled at the other end of the couch, one leg up, one bent at the knee and foot on the floor. Patting the upholstery between his legs, he smiled at Daud. Daud tilted his head.

“Daud,” Corvo called to him in his best cajoling tone. He hadn’t been able to do that in so long. Daud did roll his eyes then, but moved, sitting down and then shifting until his back was against Corvo’s chest. Spreading the blanket to cover them both, Corvo wrapped his arms around Daud. Pushed his nose into his hair. He still smelled like Void, like the cold, just a little. Daud’s hands came up to cover Corvo’s forearms where they rested on his stomach, and his head tilted back onto Corvo’s shoulder.

“Better?” Corvo asked.

“Hmm,” Daud conceded with a hum. Corvo kissed his cheek.

“You’re scruffy,” Corvo decided to keep up the chatter, if just to distract Daud from his roiling insides.

“I haven’t had to shave in a year, apparently,” Daud hazarded, relaxing a little in Corvo’s hold when his stomach didn’t upset itself again. “Actually, I changed my mind, I’m going back.”

Corvo had half a mind to bite his ear in teasing punishment, but restrained himself. “I have a perfectly good razor,” he told him instead.

Daud huffed. “Well, I suppose mine’s at the bottom of the river.“

“Mine _was_ yours,” Corvo admitted, then bit his lip. Daud went still in his embrace, his fingers stopped tracing patterns onto the fabric of Corvo’s jacket.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Corvo deflected, then contained a wince. Renewed grief had not made him an easier man with words. He squeezed Daud a little tighter, just for a moment, in silent apology. Daud’s fingertips resumed their pattern-making.

“There’s something to be said here about nostalgia,” Daud rumbled.

“Please don’t,” Corvo asked, turning his face into Daud’s shoulder.

A pause.

“Alright.”

***

Impatience rather getting the better of him, Daud didn’t quite wait a while before using his powers again — during training. It was risky, certainly, seeing as half a dozen Whalers were around to see it, but thankfully, Daud’s insides had not turned against him immediately.

It did, however, about an hour later.

Awkward silence followed Daud from the other room as he made his way into Corvo’s ensuite bathroom.

“It’s not—” Rinaldo started.

“ _Rin_.” Rulfio’s most warning tone, but Daud knew as well as anyone that Rinaldo Escobar — Whaler, Watch officer, wiseass — was not to be deterred.

“It’s not morning sickness, is it, boss?”

Daud, still fighting to calm his revolting stomach and rolling his eyes at the same time, let a few breaths pass through his lungs before growling, “A word to anyone, and I will shoot you both.“

More silence greeted him, but his keen hearing picked up on Rinaldo whispering, “That wasn’t a no,“ well enough. More frantic shushing followed. Daud splashed water in his face.

***

Later that week, Daud took up training with Emily and Corvo; some of the Whalers watching or sparring next to them. Corvo had slowly but surely imposed a schedule upon the usage of the practice yard, clearing it of unwanted onlookers during gaps in Emily’s schedule every few weeks. During one such lesson, Daud had joined them, carrying his sword, gloves back on. His red coat was still locked in one of Corvo’s cupboards. Corvo wasn’t sure if it meant he was to decide what to do with it. He suspected it might.

Apparently taking Hypatia’s warnings to heart, Daud had begun the lesson with simple exercises designed to build up core strength and stamina, demonstrating for Emily how to hold the positions and correcting her form when necessary. Corvo, having seen him standing on one damn leg, the other in the air, for half an hour without wavering, felt concern rise in his chest when, after a good ten minutes, Daud actually started sweating. Gently tapping his shoulder as he passed him, Corvo suggested Emily show Daud some of the stances she’d learnt.

That evening, Corvo climbed into bed after taking a long shower, settling against Daud, sighing a little when Daud’s arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Thank you for agreeing to spar with Emily. It means a lot to her," he murmured.

"She's a fast learner," Daud deflected his gratitude, as he knew he would. "She's got her mother's spirit, but there's back alley in her movements that's all yours, and I’ll never manage to train it out of her now," Daud added, and Corvo snorted a laugh. Daud looked smug.

"Better than my nose," Corvo shrugged, smiling when he realised Daud had begun trailing rough, calloused fingertips up and down his arm, seemingly without noticing.

"I'd forgotten what it's like," Daud said quietly.

"What is?" Corvo looked up at him, curious.

"Teaching." For a long moment, Daud didn't say anything else and Corvo didn't, either, waiting him out. Daud swallowed. "When she dropped into the stance you've taught her, so much like yours and yet just a little off — not wrong, just different… she reminded me so much of Billie when I started training her."

"You trained Lurk?" Corvo asked in surprise. Going by what he knew of the timeline, Billie hadn't joined the Whalers until about a decade before Corvo had met them.

Daud nodded, his face unreadable. "Rulfio was taking care of the novices by that point, but Billie… I oversaw her lessons myself, taught her everything I knew." He paused. "You do know Lurk's not her actual last name, right?"

Corvo smiled. "I'd assumed as much, but I never asked."

"When I met her, she introduced herself as Billie, but it was all she'd say. I'm not sure if she didn't remember her last name, or if she didn't want to. Any case, the name 'Lurk' was given to her by the others, because it was what she'd do. Perhaps assassins are somewhat unoriginal when naming things, but at least they were right. She'd watch everything, but especially me. It was a little unsettling at first, having her follow me everywhere I went, but eventually I got used to it. Even half-starved and about as tall as my chest, she had my back; for no other reason than I didn't kill her when I could have."

"How did you meet? She only told me that you pulled her up from nothing." Hearing Daud talk about that time so frankly now… Corvo knew it was a gift he barely deserved.

"She followed me one night, to the school. She'd seen me carry out a contract, and somehow she managed to tail me back to our hide-out. A broken kid, staying alive mostly out of spite. She lost sight of me, though, and I came up behind her, put my blade to her throat and told her to give me one good reason to let her go."

Corvo's eyes widened. "You wouldn't have—"

"I would," Daud interrupted him, his storm-grey eyes on Corvo's a stark reminder of the man he was. (Had been.) But he was also the man Corvo was tangled in his bedsheets with, who was absentmindedly caressing his bare skin and murmuring bloody secrets in his ear. The man Corvo loved beyond reason, the way he'd only loved once before in his life, and knew he never would again. "But I didn't have to."

"What did she say?" Corvo whispered, still afraid that if he spoke too rashly, the moment would break and Daud would withdraw.

"She told me her life wasn't worth much to her anyway. I couldn't let that stand."

"So you offered her a chance."

"A fool's chance, and one that nearly destroyed her. She betrayed me, but it's me who should be asking for forgiveness," Daud told him roughly, and Corvo set a hand on his hip.

"You gave her what you could. The world was kind to neither of you."

"Corvo," Daud's smile had a sad twist to it. "Why do you always insist on not despising me for the man I was as anyone with good sense would, hm?"

This, Corvo could answer with certainty.

"Because I love the man you are."

And if Daud answered his smile with a look of disbelief, that was alright.

“Corvo,” Daud began after a moment, but stopped himself.

“What?”

Daud cast a glance about the room, as if searching for the right words and hoping to find them in the half-dark.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… about Jessamine…”

“About her return to the Void?“

“Yes.”

Corvo sighed, settling against him. “She left the morning you arrived. We spent the night in the gazebo, it felt… it felt right. We talked about our life together, about Emily, about the future. There never seemed to be enough time, when we were together. And now, there’s none at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Daud murmured, and his voice was raw with guilt. Corvo shook his head, reaching up to brush his knuckles over Daud’s cheek, following the shape of his scar.

“It was time. It’s only… it’s as if it’s only now I’m letting her go. She was still here, with me, for so long, and I never had to… I never had to accept it. Not when I carried her body, not when I knew my daughter would be Empress long before her time, not when I knelt at Jessamine’s tombstone. I had the Heart to help me _see_ , but what I couldn’t see was a world without her. I had no idea what it might look like, and now… I realise I’ve been living in it this whole time. Because what’s changed… is me.”

Daud’s arm tightened, and Corvo closed his eyes when a gentle kiss was pressed against his temple.

“She came to me in the Void,” Daud whispered.

“I know,” Corvo nodded minutely.

“She loved you very much,” Daud continued. “Enough to _order_ me to return.”

A smile fought its way through the pain.

“Of course she did.”

“Corvo.” Daud’s voice demanded that he listen, and so Corvo looked up at him. “She named herself your ghost, but I know… I know you never thought of her as that. Don’t start now.”

Unable to speak, Corvo stretched up to bury his face in Daud’s neck.

For a time, neither of them spoke, until Corvo pulled away, then dared to pose a different question altogether.

“Daud… in the Void…”

He felt Daud’s muscles tense underneath him but then, on a sigh, it was as though Daud willed himself to relax.

“What do you want to know?”

Corvo recognised the resignation in his voice, and something like indignation swept the words that had been on the tip of his tongue away like untethered boats with the tide. “No, wait — Daud, you don’t owe me, or anyone, any of it. If you never wish to speak of what happened, tell me now, and I’ll stop—”

“Corvo!” Daud cut off his rambling, looking torn between relief and irritation — whether at Corvo or himself, Corvo didn’t rightly know. “Just ask. I may choose not to answer, but you can always ask.” Daud was looking down at Corvo’s hand on his hip, avoiding his gaze, so Corvo did the next best thing and brushed soothing circles into his skin with his thumb, just past the edge of the unbuttoned shirt Daud was wearing to bed.

“In the Void… did you ever… look for a way out?” It was a question that had been plaguing Corvo far longer than since Daud’s return. When weeks grew into months into years, he wondered if Daud ever thought to look. For a long time, Corvo had secretly held out hope that Daud would simply shoulder open the door to his quarters, stride in, and ask him where the hell he’d been. But he never had.

Daud still wouldn’t meet his gaze. Corvo did not expect an answer.

At length, Daud looked up, his eyes twisted with shadows.

“It never came up.”

Corvo supposed he might have felt his heart crack open and the blood run out, but the beast howling inside him then was not the Void. For one simple, stupendous moment, the pain he felt was Daud’s, and the beast was the wolf as it answered the call. He swallowed.

Words could wait.

Instead, he stretched up and caught Daud’s lips in a kiss that demanded as much as it returned. Daud’s hand slipped into his hair, tugging experimentally, and when Corvo let himself moan and close his eyes, Daud turned their situation on its head. He pressed closer, opening his mouth under Corvo’s, welcoming him, _inviting_ him, Corvo’s grip on his hip tightening as he drew him in deep. What he felt was reduced to the man half underneath him, his ragged breath ghosting over his cheek, Corvo felt as though caught in a delirium of his own. They’d kissed, but not like this; they’d touched, but not like this.

Eventually they had to part, both panting, and Corvo leaned in to press his forehead against Daud’s. Daud’s hand was still in his hair, the other on his shoulder; remembering Daud’s promise from only days before, the touch burnt hotter than a brand.

“I missed you,“ Corvo whispered.

In response, Daud kissed him again.

***

Despite all this — despite slowly feeling stronger, despite his connection to the Void stabilising, despite slowly getting used to living in the waking world once more — Daud did wonder: what would come next?

He couldn’t stay at the Tower for much longer, but he couldn’t simply reappear in the middle of the city, either. Even if his rivals — and, more importantly, his enemies — had settled into life without the steady presence of his blade at their throats, his return would not go entirely unnoticed. He could stay in the shadows, on the outskirts, all he wanted; whispers would follow him wherever he went. He knew how to disappear, how to hide in plain sight — yes, even a man like him — and in that, too, the uniform he’d once worn would aid him with its absence. He would not be found if he did not want to, and he was not concerned for his own safety. It was Emily and Corvo he worried for. The Knife of Dunwall, in and out of the Tower at all hours… it had been different during the chaos after Emily’s coronation. But things had settled now, and eyes strayed beyond counting rations and elixirs for the day — or the coin in their coffers, when it came to the nobility. The threat of the Plague had passed, and with it that shape of ignorance that found its roots in desperation.

But Daud had been given a new lease on life, and with it an obligation. He’d made _her_ another promise, he realised. To live. To face what he’d done. He couldn’t waltz up to the doors of those from whom he’d taken. He didn’t regret taking contracts that resulted in the death of a father who beat his children, of perverts and rapists and murderers alike. Of those who would exploit others to fill their pockets. But he’d taken the lives of some who might do good, too, those who would share their fortune, who would work at Jessamine’s side to make Dunwall better. He’d unwittingly taken out her rivals, but her allies as well; and he’d left the city weaker for it. He had a duty, now.

He still had his powers. He had an able body and a fractured soul — what more could he need?

Standing there at the window, Daud didn’t turn when the door opened. A few moments later, strong arms wrapped around his waist and drew him in. He let himself smile. He shouldn’t let Corvo ease the guilt in his chest so readily, but Corvo himself demanded it. And he was powerless against that.

“Hello,” Corvo murmured, nuzzling his hair.

“How was your meeting with Ames?” Daud asked — he’d been surprised but pleased to hear that she’d been awarded a spot on Emily’s council. So, naturally, he was curious. Corvo, however, did not seem to appreciate his interest in politics just then.

“Mm-mh,” he grumbled, quickly kissing Daud’s neck.

“No? Then what should we talk about?” Daud teased.

Letting out a deep breath, Corvo put his chin on Daud’s shoulder. Eventually, he said, “Tell me why you’re staring out the window like you’re scheming?”

Even as Daud’s stomach lurched at how _well_ Corvo knew him, an odd warmth settled inside him at the realisation. In any case, it was useless to draw it out.

“I’ve been here for three weeks. Eventually, you’re going to need to get someone in here to dust the shelves lest they declare you a hermit and a fool, and I… I can’t hide behind high walls forever.” His heart in his throat, Daud waited. Felt Corvo’s sigh along his neck.

“I know,” Corvo said after a long pause. “I know.“

“You know I’ll still impose on you for dinner,” Daud said lightly, realising too late the double meaning of his words and feeling, helplessly, his cheeks warm at what was essentially, and especially coming from him, shameless flirtation. Conscientiously not turning to meet Corvo’s gaze, Daud waited. The arms wrapped around him tightened and he felt Corvo raise his head.

“I’d be terribly disappointed if you didn’t,” Corvo rasped into his ear so close his lips brushed the lobe with every sound, his breath hot on Daud’s cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) EXPLICIT CONSENT IS SEXY, KIDS.  
> b) This chapter was kinda horny to write. I have no regrets.  
> c) “abyss of nothingness in which all being sinks” — Hegel, 1845. This entire “The Outsider is Dead” thing is what happens when I get to wondering what the in-world reactions to Sokolov publishing that mighty tome of his might be; and then while putting my socks on I go, “Ooh, Nietzsche!” Nothing good has ever come of me going, “Oooh, Nietzsche!” So this anti-Abbey movement is a bit of a perverted version of Existentialism/Nihilism — perverted because Nietzsche was actually looking for a solution to Nihilism, instead of wanting to raise a generation of beatniks and hedonists. But he’s dead now, so he can’t fight me on this, only spin in his grave. Nietzsche did, however, believe that out of believing that God was dead would be born a loss of belief in a common system of values and order. Hegel, in turn, believed that the death of God was something that any religion, in this case Christianity had to deal with regularly, as doubt and crises of faith would come and go. It’s what Corvo’s touching on when he says, surely this has popped up before. And indeed, worshippers in Dishonored have had to deal with the loss of their chosen Void entities before.  
> d) They who catch the _Famous Blue Raincoat_ reference get a smooch.  
>  e) Daud: I haven’t had to shave in a year. … Oh shit, can I go back?  
> f) The morning sickness bit is entirely silly AND I KNOW IT and I do not give a single, solitary fuck. It came to me in a fit of desperation, and I kept it.  
> g) Also, I don't remember if I mentioned it last update, but I'm basing Daud's troubles on astronauts' symptoms after extended periods in orbit/zero gravity. Only, his problem isn't gravity, it's time.
> 
> Yo hey also the excellent artist punch who drew the cover for this series (and made me cry) has a new Dishonored blog, and they're posting lots of excellent doodles and scenes with Corvo and Daud!! <https://a-whole-lotta-whalebone.tumblr.com/>  
> Go check 'em out!


	14. Chapter Ten — I Will Surrender There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud finally owns what's in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, kids, buckle up, because this is your official Naughty Warning for this chapter. There's some plot in between there, but mostly this is........ god, it's what these two so bitterly deserve. And, frankly, so do we all.
> 
> Pillow talk is dedicated to punch, who made me make it all even worse.
> 
> Music: [Down on Your Knees by flora cash](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6C_sbQt_K8M&index=49&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&t=0s).
> 
> Also, spot of self-promotion: [Staring Into Open Flame, Corvo/Jessamine/Daud AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13856703/chapters/31873566).

> _Corvo —_
> 
> _Something that might be of interest to you: informants of ours among the gangs have been insisting, independently of each other, that the Knife of Dunwall has returned from wherever the hell he’s been the past year and a half. No confirmed sightings, mind you, but one actually told Officer Price that the shadows were moving again in Dunwall._
> 
> _I don’t know what deal you’ve made with him, but it might be a good idea to call for caution. Tell your man to be careful, for all our sakes._
> 
> _Geoff Curnow_

Corvo read the letter once more before putting it away along with the remainder of that morning’s correspondence. He appreciated Curnow warning him — them — if perhaps not the slightly accusatory tone. The point was for Daud to keep out of sight of the general public, but it was inevitable to see and be seen in the more… dangerous parts of the city.

Daud had made permanent quarters on the edge between the Tower and Estate Districts; in one of the buildings covertly owned and maintained by the office of the Royal Spymaster. Several of Corvo’s agents lived there one and off, and even the more well-to-do citizens living door to door with them were content to turn a blind eye to their comings and goings. Not that _they’d_ ever actually catch a glimpse of Daud.

True to his word, however, he was in and out of the Tower at all hours of the day: his first forays into the city itself had been frequent, but brief. Corvo could only imagine how overwhelming it had to be to live among people again. Dunwall, at its worst, was a smog-filled, writhing mess, especially bogged down with rain as it was during this season. Daud had spent what must have been to him an indeterminate amount of time in utter isolation; and Corvo had not liked to pry, but Daud had volunteered, upon his first return from an excursion through the district, that everything felt too loud, too close, and too damn small. Remembering the vastness of the Void, Corvo had shuddered. Daud had spent the night, then, rather than returning to Market Street, and Corvo had done his best to calm his rebellious heart when Daud curled up against his side when they went to bed just as he’d done during his recovery.

He’d been right to leave the Tower, Corvo knew, and yet his worry at hearing Daud pronounce his decision could not be denied; the moment broken only by Daud’s inadvertent reminder of promises made that had nothing to do with sense and everything with how Daud’s warm skin felt underneath Corvo’s fingertips. They had only just kept themselves in check then, knowing without needing to speak that it was too soon for both of them.

Daud grew stronger every day, and eventually his ability to carry the Void inside him had evened out, sickness overcome and forgotten. The rest of it was endurance training, pure and simple, and Corvo wondered what tricks the Void had played on him that he hadn’t immediately seen the thinning of Daud’s frame and bulk. He was filling out again now, though — sparring with the Whalers, with Corvo, training with Emily when time allowed. Corvo thought he could not have been more exhilarated than the first time his blade crossed Daud’s again in the practice ring, seeing the challenge in Daud’s gaze, but he was proved wrong by the sheer wonder he felt at seeing Daud timing Emily’s sprints, encouraging her and even racing her down the length of the deserted yard, tossing the stopwatch at an unsuspecting Rinaldo. Emily had been delighted, laughing too much to properly control her breathing and then squeaking when Daud decided to make her pay for it by turning their race into an impromptu game of tag and taking absolutely no prisoners. (If Corvo didn’t know that _Spot Galia_ had been a staple training method in the Whalers’ school, he’d have thought Daud had lost his sense somewhere along the way.) Daud hadn’t laughed, hadn’t even grinned, but Corvo had seen the intensity in his eyes and known it for what it was: happiness.

Back in the present, Corvo stood and went over to the row of bookshelves behind his desk, searching for one particular volume on the history of Roseburrow’s prototypes. Whale oil technology was ubiquitous now, and its usage had spread so quickly after Roseburrow’s discovery, that barely anyone cared to remember what it had been like without it. There had to be other, more sustainable ways of generating electricity and advancing — rather than halting, as so many industrialists were warning in the face of criticism — the progress that had brought a new age of prosperity to Gristol, and making it accessible, too, for those who could not afford that progress now.

In merging his and Jessamine’s libraries with some of the older works from the Tower library, any thought of a system had fairly gone out the window, and so Corvo found himself reaching for something out of habit and not finding it where it ought to have been. Still, sitting down, doing inventory and reorganising the whole lot was about as far up his list of priorities as learning how to brine hagfish. Sighing, he shrugged off his uniform coat and vest and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt after removing the wrist strap as well as his weapons and belt holsters. His official duties for the day were done, he’d missed dinner due to a meeting, and the official regalia of his position — although his were nothing compared to the utter pompousness of Burrows’ garments and military insignia and medals — could be stifling even in their familiarity. At least he was expecting no more visitors, and he’d sent Quinn down to the barracks to take the night off.

Finally, he found the book he’d been looking for and opened it straight away, thumbing through to the index. Locating the section on _Obsolete and Outdated Modes of Transferring Electricity_ , he skimmed the first section and would have gone on reading if there hadn’t been the slightest disturbance in the air. Not quite a draft, as the windows were closed, but _something_. Something familiar in the way air didn’t stir but rather lost its place for but a moment before settling.

Corvo finished reading the paragraph, then turned.

Over his left shoulder, he found what he sought, or rather who — Daud, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. Watching him, a peculiar expression on his face. Corvo thought to ask if there was something the matter, but then decided to stay quiet and wait. He watched Daud watch him, watched as Daud’s eyes left his face and found the rest of him instead, from tip to stern and back again; and momentarily Corvo got over the feeling of being caught doing something he shouldn’t and instead stumbled headlong into the feeling of being _prey_. Not that he was frightened — on the contrary. He swallowed thickly and tried not to show it, then turned back towards the shelf, back towards the book. He was only too aware of the heat of Daud’s gaze, lingering, but Daud wasn’t moving, wasn’t talking, and Corvo wouldn’t make him. Perhaps it ought to worry him that whatever space between them seemed to become charged at a moment’s notice, that all it took was a word, a glance, a kiss stolen in the shadows before Daud had to leave. But Corvo remembered the way it had been before Brigmore, and the only thing keeping them apart then had been fear of their own courage. Before he could stop himself, he straightened his shoulders a little, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and canting his hips in what _wasn’t_ a nervous shuffle; but his own mortification was quite lost to the intake of breath audible from across the room.

Corvo was close to giving up then, to discarding the book along with all pretence, only for Daud to beat him to it. The Void opened and closed as Daud used it to pull himself across the space; and Corvo dropped the book in earnest as he whirled around, finding Daud right behind him. Neither of them spoke, but Daud set his hands on Corvo’s chest and _pushed_ ; Corvo went, back pressed against the bookcase on his next breath. Corvo waited, reflexively wetting his lips with his tongue. Daud’s dark gaze dropped to his mouth and Corvo’s heart leapt into his throat. Daud removed his hands and raised his arms to brace them against the shelves on either side of Corvo’s head instead, boxing him in.

“Daud,” Corvo rasped, caught off guard and yet not, as if this should be the moment they’d both been waiting for without being able to name it. _Stop taking your time_ , he wanted to say but didn’t, knew better than to rush.

He watched Daud’s throat work as he swallowed.

“Bodyguard,” Daud drawled, and Corvo fell into him at the same time as he stretched up, meeting in an open-mouthed kiss that did away with subtlety and marked their impatience for what it was even as it took Daud _far too long_ to close the distance between them, to press his chest against Corvo’s and a thigh between his legs.

Corvo reached up to wind his arms around Daud’s shoulders, drawing him even closer.

 _Don’t tell me the odds,_ he’d demanded of Daud in the Void. _Tell me what you want_.

When Daud growled and bit his bottom lip, Corvo finally received his answer.

* * *

 

**A week earlier.**

Daud had taken once again to moving through the shadows. He went out at night more than during the day, trawling the docks and the taverns. Talking to people, or just eavesdropping. Hiding his face. Usually when they were drunk enough, they wouldn’t remember anyway. And, since he’d traded in his red coat for another, people seemed to have been paying a lot less attention. They didn’t even seem to mind the scar too much; and besides, what would the Knife of Dunwall be doing in a bar, drinking whiskey with dock workers and deck hands? It had to be a trick of the light. Besides, wasn’t the Knife gone? Dead? Exiled? No wanted posters anymore, any rate. So the talk went, and so he listened to them, and what he learnt he took back to the Tower — back to Corvo. But of course, clueless dock workers weren’t gang thugs and thieves, and so Daud wasn’t surprised at the whispers that began haunting his steps after the first few weeks.

Now, during the meeting, Corvo laid out everything the Whalers, his agents, and Daud had found out over the past week. Curnow was present, too, and Daud made a note to speak to him later.

Edward Roseburrow had given the Empire electricity from whale oil. Anton Sokolov had given Gristol, in particular, its weaponisation. The whaling industry had always been what had given Gristol any economic security among the four nations, but it had been the advent of technology beyond anyone’s wildest dreams that had catapulted it into a position of prominence, despite having been the seat of rule for centuries now. The demand for whale oil had grown exponentially; slaughterhouses and refineries and factories had sprung up from the earth in no time at all to keep up.

But now, the creatures were being hunted to extinction, slaughterhouses had to expend more and more money for whaling expeditions that didn’t reliably bring in catch. While waiting for their hunting ships to return, the factories reduced workers’ hours and comp. On top of barely being able to afford whale oil even now that the government’s decree was capping prices, workers, whalers, and butchers were fearing for their work and livelihood. And beyond, more danger was lurking on the horizon. The labourers themselves and the unions feared that the invention of other power technologies, slowly but surely taken to be inevitable, would render them obsolete — and they’d be left with nothing; especially those deemed too old to learn a new trade or craft. In the wake of poverty and fear, conflicts erupted between factories and their workers; one half too scared to strike and lose what little they had left, the other deciding they had nothing left _to_ lose.

All in all, it made Dunwall… tense. As though the air w as crackling with the spark of whale oil and the promise of violence if things continued unchecked. Unless protests or strikes turned violent, the City Watch kept well out of the way — any violence was more likely to be incited by factory owners’ lackeys, anyway, like the butchers at Rothwild’s slaughterhouse before it’d been blown to kingdom come. Daud and Corvo had been unable to intervene at the time, still hidden at the pub, and besides, what would they have done? The situation had been too far out of hand.

Concluding that the current climate posed no direct threat to both public safety and the Empress — even as the whale oil rationing policy had drawn its share of ire in the beginning, it had proven to at least halt the increase in whale oil prices — Corvo closed the meeting. The latest reports on Hatter activity had grown a little more interesting, given that they were, apparently, still in shambles after Daud had gotten rid of the Geezer and Trimble. It seemed impossible that, over a year later, no-one had dared to declare himself the leader, but it seemed the remaining Hatters were having a hard enough time, for the moment, holding on to what little territory they had left. Stride and the Eels kept an eye on them, and one or two of her more skilled harpoonists occasionally fed Daud information in exchange for some coin or liquor.

“Curnow,” Daud stepped up to the Captain when he made to leave. He held out his hand — they’d not been introduced, as such.

Curnow looked down for a moment as though taken aback by the gesture, but then shook the proffered hand.

“Daud,” he said, warily. Daud did not blame him. “What is it?”

He got straight to the point; if nothing else, Daud could appreciate that. “It’s about my—” he caught himself just before saying, ‘my Whalers.’ Instead, he amended, “your new recruits. Well, not quite so new anymore.”

Curnow drew a brow. “And what about them?” he asked and crossed his arms. _Defensive_ , Daud noted. _Threatened_ , he considered, but then dismissed the notion. _Protective_? Perhaps.

“I’ve not trained properly in a while,” Daud told him. Bouts with Corvo aside, that was true. “And I wanted to ask if you had any objection to my training with them.”

“I’m assuming when you say ‘training,’ you don’t just mean swords,” Curnow commented, and the thought that he knew still made Daud uneasy. But both Corvo and Thomas had assured him that the Captain was trustworthy, so the least he could do was to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Not exclusively,” Daud phrased vaguely. He knew Corvo wouldn’t be letting the Whalers go out on their own if they hadn’t mastered their powers yet — Rinaldo’s mishap notwithstanding — but still he wanted to _see_. Wanted to see for himself how their Bond with Corvo worked, how they had adapted to his powers. Daud hadn’t made a decision yet regarding his own ability to carry the Bond. It was up to him, then, and he supposed the best way to find out whether he was still capable… was to fight.

Curnow simply watched him for a moment, and Daud drew upon what reserves of patience he had. Eventually, he nodded.

“Alright.“ He paused. “I appreciate you asking,“ he added. Perhaps civility had been the last thing Daud had expected, so all he did was nod a little stiffly. A second later, Corvo appeared at his side, smiling easily at Curnow.

“Might I borrow Daud for a moment, Captain?” Corvo asked, and Curnow waved a hand.

“He’s all yours, Corvo,” he said, his expression too knowing for that to have been unintentional. Daud narrowed his eyes at him, but Corvo beside him remained unfazed. “Tomorrow afternoon,” Curnow added in his general direction, then nodded in farewell and turned to leave.

“What’s tomorrow?” Corvo gently bumped his shoulder against Daud’s.

“Training.”

*

“Sir!” Several calls of his name echoed Rinaldo’s exclamation upon his entering the training grounds. Present were only former Whalers — and Simmons. Daud and Corvo, during his recovery, had discussed bringing Simmons into the fold. His loyalty they did not doubt, nor his capabilities. With another year or so under his belt, the young man had already advanced from lower guardsmen to guard; and with the right guidance, he could be officer one day. Curnow might offer such guidance, and so he had agreed to take him on — had balked at his age at first, but Simmons was no younger than some of Daud’s novices had been. The earlier he learnt to recognise the marks of a true assassin, the better.

And not only that — usually, the Whalers trained their powers with Corvo, leading merry chases across the rooftops at night. But for this, and for the ultimate test of Simmons’ trustworthiness, today they would spar with Daud. Properly. The Void sang in his bones at the thought.

“Thomas,” Daud called after a nod at Curnow, standing to the side with Hobson and Aeolos. His former second appeared in front of him in the blink of an eye — literally — and Daud heard Simmons mutter a curse. He didn’t check to see if the boy ran off. (Even if he tried, he’d not get far.) “Ready for a round?”

Thomas nodded, doing little to hide his smile. “Yes, sir.”

Daud sighed. He’d never beat that out of them.

“Your Arcane Bond is strong?” Daud asked, although it was a formality. Thomas nodded. Daud smirked. “Then I expect you to use it,” Daud told him, drawing his sword.

“Sir.”

As he’d been taught, Thomas didn’t wait for a signal, or for Daud to raise his blade — without a warning, he attacked. Blinking towards Daud and stopping not even a foot away, his sword already slicing through the air. Daud had but a second to parry, remembering the way Corvo had told him once very early on that he preferred Blink over Transversal because, while it didn’t let him redirect a leap in mid-air, it didn’t fool him into keeping still to aim with pin-point accuracy.

Daud blocked Thomas’ attack forcefully enough to stagger him, then got after him with his own knife. His was the only assassin’s blade in sight; the Whalers were training with the weapons all guards and officers of the Watch used. Daud wondered if they’d destroyed their uniforms but kept the knives, somewhere. When they went out at night, they didn’t wear their Watch uniform or any other, they wore coats of leather still but of different cuts and colours. The Whalers were no longer. One thing he had noticed, however: none of them wore red.

Daud attacked, Thomas blocked, then vice versa. They blinked and transversed, bent time, and Daud could see Thomas’ frustration at having lost Pull to the transition. So the duel continued, with the other Whalers, Simmons, and Curnow watching without pretence. Daud knew he still had some way to go before he was truly in the shape he’d been in before all this, but he had regained his strength quickly enough to be able to do this for nearly half an hour without feeling his reserves drain at all, both assassins coming at each other full tilt.

But even more than he was pleased with himself, he was proud of Thomas. He had clearly adapted well to Corvo’s abilities, and even as the thought of losing their connection stung, Daud realised the persistence and dedication it must have taken to unlearn old lessons and subscribe to new ones; all the while not just maintaining but improving his skill with a blade. Corvo’s influence, Daud knew; and ached in that moment, too, but with gratitude for what Corvo had done, the lengths he’d gone to to keep the Whalers safe, and more than that. He’d given them a future.

Eventually, they called a halt, and when Daud set his hand on Thomas’ shoulder, he was smiling.

“Well done, Thomas,” he said quietly, and Thomas’ eyes shone with the praise.

“Thank you.”

They stayed like that for a moment, catching their breath, and then Daud let go and turned towards the others.

“Who’s next?”

*

“That was impressive.” Daud looked up and found Curnow standing next to the bench he was sitting on, watching the Whalers train among themselves now — and Simmons, who was doing his best to defend himself from Blink attacks and getting reasonably better at it, even if sometimes it simply involved _ducking_.

“They’re training well,” Daud responded.

Curnow hummed. “I admit I was worried when Corvo suggested them as recruits.” He paused, and Daud waited, waited for the other shoe to drop. “But they’ve been invaluable to the Empress’ security, and that’s thanks to what you taught them.” Curnow cut him a glance. “And even considering what you used to be — to do — I’m not about to cut them loose. They’ve proven themselves.”

Daud nodded. He understood. Now it was up to him to do the same.

“Emily and Corvo are my first concern,” he said plainly. “The Whalers will follow them as they once followed me.” He watched as Rinaldo tried to trip Simmons and Galia smacked him on the back of the head for his trouble. “On that, you have my word.”

Curnow didn’t speak, but instead walked behind him and sat on the bench on his other side.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

“Daud.”

“Hmm?”

“Why are they all so afraid of Fleet?”

Daud grinned.

* * *

 

**Present day.**

“Daud,” Corvo moaned into the kiss. “Please.”

“Please what,” Daud pulled away long enough to ask, licking at Corvo’s bottom lip, swollen from the bite.

“Take me to bed,” Corvo chased his mouth again, only to break away after another moment. “You promised.”

“Promised what?” he asked, trailing his fingers up Corvo’s neck until he reached his chin, exerting gentle pressure until Corvo tilted his head back, exposing his throat so Daud could lay more kisses there.

“You promised you’d have me,” Corvo still possessed the mind to speak, then, voice broken with desire and the shards of it strumming against Daud’s lips through his skin; and he had to draw away to breathe. “Will you?” Corvo delivered, but it was no challenge so much as a declaration of intent — not to take, but to give.

Daud had a declaration of his own, long-owed not only to himself, but Corvo. “I want you.” Tension bled out of Corvo at his answer, only to return like touching a live wire when Daud rocked his hips. “And I’ll have you tonight.”

Corvo let his head fall forward, a strangled sound falling from his lips. “It’s been so long,“ he whispered, rendering Daud helpless when he nosed at his cheek. “It’s been so long without you.”

“I’m here,” Daud blindly reached for the words, wanting only to soothe the ache in Corvo’s voice. “I’m here.” _I came here for you_ , he might have said, but Corvo collected the words from his lips and pushed against him, and slowly they were walking backwards, towards the bed. Daud remembered the fumbling, his own trembling fingers (and trying so badly to hide it) the first time they’d undressed each other; and for all that they had been determined then they were more confident now, but what halted their movements was the reverence of the moment, the gift of knowing that this was real. Daud had discarded his gloves even before entering the room, and now he slid his hands inside Corvo’s unbuttoned shirt, fingertips tracing across familiar skin and scars, digging into Corvo’s hip when he pushed forward. It wasn’t just Daud who’d needed time to recover — Corvo had worn himself into the ground for more than a year, making an offering of his nights that the Void had consumed all too greedily. But in the weeks since Daud’s return, he’d given in to his body’s demands, simply seeking his rest when Daud did. Had he gotten into scrapes, Daud wondered, adding to the marks on his skin that Daud knew from so long ago?

Only one way to find out.

Impatience overtaking him, Daud tugged at Corvo’s shirt to push it off his shoulders, grunting when Corvo’s hands, once free, returned to pull at his belt. Having no need of words, they undressed each other, making haste but brushing hands across burning skin with each layer that came off — Daud having to catch up again, as he’d put it once; the simple black leather coat he’d chosen a mere nuisance standing in Corvo’s way.

Daud sensed the bed behind him and snuck his arms around Corvo’s waist, then turned them around and marched forward, Corvo following his lead instinctively, until they could go no further. Corvo grunted as the edge of the bed hit the back of his knees.

“Sit down,“ Daud growled, and if they both thought of _that night_ , then at least they were both sentimental fools. Corvo did as he was told wordlessly; and it took Daud courage he wouldn’t have found at the bottom of a well to hold his gaze as he went down on a knee in front of him, setting out to do what Corvo had once done for him. Daud unbuckled Corvo’s boots, his hand gripping the back of Corvo’s calves as he pulled them off tearing a grunt from Corvo that would not be swallowed down. He gripped tighter for just a moment, watching Corvo’s face: his eyes closed and his brow furrowed, his lips parting on a hitching breath.

“Daud,” Corvo rasped, swaying forward.

Daud forewent speaking altogether, instead unlacing his own shoes and discarding them. He sat up and, willing his hands to remain steady, set to work on Corvo’s trousers, steadfastly ignoring that he was half-hard already. Corvo hissed when Daud’s fingers brushed against him as he pulled the zipper down, unconcerned with containing his every reaction to what Daud was doing to him; and Daud felt himself twitch at the thought that it _was_ him doing this to Corvo, reducing him to grunts and whines low in his throat.

“Lie back,” he instructed, barely recognising his own voice, and Corvo did without a second thought, raising his hips without needing to be told. Gathering himself, Daud curled his fingers under the waistband and tugged, biting his lip when Corvo gasped as he realised that Daud was baring him completely in one movement, taking not only his trousers but his pants as well. Lowering himself back onto the mattress when Daud relieved him of his socks, stroking thumbs over his ankles, Corvo breathed in deep. When Daud looked up, his hands were gripping the covers.

Daud made short work of his own clothing then as he stood, leaving his and Corvo’s in a tangle on the floor that brought him irrational satisfaction. These traces would disappear by dawn, but until then they would make their mark upon the world. Behind him, he heard the telltale rustling of Corvo moving up on the bed, untucking the covers and pushing them down with his feet, then resting against the pillows. Daud didn’t turn, only listened, almost unable to bear watching.

But a long step eventually brought him back to the bed, finding Corvo spread out and at his mercy, a sight that would have been enough to bring him off, he felt, but kept himself in check. Instead, he bent down, cradling Corvo’s calf again and lifting his knee, bending his leg upwards as Daud knelt on the mattress between his legs.

“Yes,” Corvo hissed, reaching blindly, and Daud’s mouth went dry. The things he wanted to _do_ …

“Not yet,” he rumbled, and let go of Corvo’s leg, bringing his hands up to brace himself over Corvo as he leaned forward instead. “Not yet.”

Daud wasn’t surprised when Corvo’s hands alighted on his shoulders, then slid down his back, but he paused when Corvo’s arms wrapped around his waist and tightened, pulling him down.

“Corvo?”

Corvo nipped at his jaw, smiling slightly.

“Put all your weight on me,” he said quietly. When Daud still hesitated, Corvo kissed him briefly. “I want to know what it feels like,” he added on a whisper, and what was Daud to do but to grant his wish? Half Daud sank down, half Corvo reeled him in, to kiss. Settling himself on top of Corvo fully, Daud realised he could not have known; could not have known to feel so much like belonging — safe, and wanted.

They just kissed for a while, chastely, deeply, rediscovering and making each other pant for breath.

“Corvo,” Daud breathed out on a sigh. Corvo, evidently recovering some of his wits, settled a hand on his ass and squeezed, making a smug sound when Daud jerked in his grip. Daud narrowed his eyes at him. Corvo grinned. Daud growled low in his throat. Not to be outrun, Daud worked his hand into Corvo’s hair and _pulled_.

Corvo, of all things, laughed. “I thought you might hate it.”

“Still long enough to get a good grip,” Daud growled, making his point by yanking Corvo’s head to the side to expose his neck, laying kisses and bites down on his skin, feeling balance restored when Corvo moaned. Daud had been pleased when he’d discovered that no-one was guarding Corvo’s quarters when he’d arrived; and Corvo appeared to want to make the most of it by sounding out his pleasure, gasping when Daud bit down just above his clavicle.

“Daud,” he groaned, arching his back. The friction was enough to make Daud grind his hips down against him before he could stop himself, and _fuck_. He’d done so well at making himself forget how good Corvo felt underneath him.

But he wanted to make this last — that, too, had been a promise. So he pulled himself together and raised himself up, swallowing Corvo’s noise of protest with a kiss that turned deeper than intended but had Corvo’s fingertips digging into his cheeks; and someday Daud might have the wherewithal to tease him about that. But not tonight.

Tonight, he scooted down and bent his head, sucking bruises into the skin of Corvo’s chest, gently grazing his teeth over one nipple only to pinch the other, grinning when Corvo arched off the bed, only just cutting off a moan that might have been too loud.

“Fuck, Daud,” Corvo panted, seeming a little shocked at his own reaction, heightened by time and longing.

“You alright?” Daud drawled, resting a palm on Corvo’s chest to gentle him.

Corvo nodded without hesitation. “Yes, just—Void. Do—do that again.”

So Daud did, blood surging when Corvo pushed himself against him and groaned through clenched teeth.

“Yes, like that.” Corvo’s arousal was impossible to miss now, pressed against Daud’s hip, and Daud was trying to make up his mind as to what to do about it when Corvo let his head fall back into the pillows. “Please, I don’t—I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Daud felt the breath rush out of his lungs at Corvo displaying his need for him so openly. He took a moment to find his voice, then told him, “Onto your front, then.” He got up onto his knees to give Corvo room to move, and Daud had to fight to stay focused when he was presented with Corvo’s back, muscles working underneath the skin as Corvo ground his hips into the bed instinctively, the thinnest sheen of sweat on his skin where it’d rubbed against the sheets.

Daud leaned forward and across Corvo’s body to wrangle one of the pillows out from under the mess they’d already made, then tapped Corvo’s waist.

“Up.”

Corvo obeyed, and Daud could have slapped himself for his own stupidity when the movement made Corvo’s ass rise up towards him enticingly enough to make him forget his own damn name. Quickly, he shoved the pillow underneath Corvo’s stomach, then pinned him down with a hand in the centre of his back. Corvo stretched up into the touch like a cat, and Daud would not deny himself any longer. So he leaned forward, seeking Corvo’s skin and finding it hot under his lips. He kissed and licked a path across Corvo’s shoulders, along the length of his spine. He took his time, ran his hands over Corvo’s lower back, his ass, and when he squeezed Corvo’s right thigh, Corvo’s moan was downright filthy. Feeling the muscles relax and warm under his hand little by little, Daud let up on him.

“Do you have anything to ease the way?“ Daud asked, warmth rising in his face — he had been determined, but not overconfident.

“Bedside table drawer,” Corvo waved a lazy hand at the side of the bed, amusement clear in his voice even as he sounded mostly wrecked with lust. Daud nipped at his shoulder in lukewarm punishment, then twisted away to fetch whatever Corvo had sent him to look for. A flask of oil, it turned out, most commonly used for massages but well-known for its usefulness in… other situations, too. This one was still full. Daud unstoppered the vial and brought it up to his nose. It smelt a little of Gristolian herbs, but not overpoweringly so. Tipping a small quantity onto his fingers and spreading it between his fingers, he nodded. This would do the job nicely. It only occurred to him then that he might make it a point to be smug that Corvo had obviously stashed it himself only recently, but words quickly failed him when Corvo, discontent to wait in silence, moaned his name.

*

Corvo could not tell if he blushed anymore at how wanton Daud’s name sounded on his tongue — he was warm, so warm, pressed into the sheets and covers and pillows and Daud’s body at his back. He arched his back a little, practically _presenting_ himself and caring little for how it looked if it just made Daud get on with it. Having this — having Daud — again had never been a foregone conclusion in his mind, but knowing that he _could_ have it now awakened a need so strong his breath ached in his chest.

Behind him, Daud inhaled sharply. “Fuck,” he muttered, making Corvo grin. He went to speak, but the words died in his throat when Daud drew just one finger, slick with oil, up the cleft between his cheeks. “Are you sure?” Daud asked, voice much closer now, and Corvo realised he was braced above him, leaning down to speak into his ear.

“Yes,” Corvo answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

“You want me to stop, I stop, no matter what,” Daud continued. “You set the pace.”

Corvo reached back, his hand finding Daud’s cheek, then his hair, felt Daud press into the touch. “I trust you.”

Daud turned his head to kiss Corvo’s palm, his lips lingering. “I love you,“ he whispered, and for a moment even Corvo’s overpowering need meant nothing compared to the fullness of his heart. Daud pulled away, settling himself on his knees again. Corvo almost wished he were still in reach, if just so Corvo could tangle his fingers in his hair and _pull_ when he felt the first, unyielding pressure.

Slowly, carefully, Daud set about preparing him.

“Breathe, Corvo,” he murmured, running the other hand up and down Corvo’s back, lingering against his side to feel him inhale, and only then did he move again. “Don’t hold it, it’ll make you tense.”

Corvo nodded, pressing back into Daud’s touch just a little to show he knew.

“Good.”

Letting himself fall into the sensation, Corvo let his focus narrow, let instinct take over and concentrated. Breathing steadily, he heard Daud hum approvingly, and it wasn’t long before he felt nearly boneless, letting himself remember the first time Daud had touched him but also past times when he’d been touched like this; remembering the pleasure worth taking from it. Daud took his time, whispering words of gentle encouragement when he spread him open further.

“More, Daud, please,” Corvo moaned.

Daud twisted his fingers just right, and Corvo cursed, rocking his hips, and did not understand the deep, rasping chuckle that followed.

“What?” he groaned.

“You,” Daud rumbled, nudging Corvo’s thighs further apart with his knees, “just dropped into Serkonan.“ And while Corvo was still trying to remember what he’d said, Daud added a third finger.

Corvo cursed once more, this time with intent, rewarded when Daud clicked his tongue.

“Again. You always speak in tongues, like this?” And oh, Daud’s voice was ruined, much as he held himself together.

Corvo would have scoffed, had he the presence of mind for it. Breathing to relax at the intrusion, welcome as it was, he said, “More easily with you.” He let the implication lie between them, trusting Daud to make inferences as he might.

“Fuck, Attano,” Daud hissed through his teeth.

“I wish you would,” Corvo could not hold back the quip, abandoning dignity all too readily when it suited him. “Daud, just—” Corvo thumped his forehead into the pillows when Daud pushed in to the knuckles of his hand, then stilled.

“Do you?“ Daud was asking now, leaning close again. “Is that really,” he twisted again, and Corvo keened, uncaring, “what you want?” He wasn’t doubting, he was making sure, Corvo knew, even if the difference seemed difficult to grasp just then, but there was one and it made Corvo’s chest fill with longing.

“Yes,” he gasped, nodding, “Daud, please.“

Daud let go of him then, and Corvo heard him handle the vial again, heard him groan softly as he _slicked himself_ , and Corvo knew there was only so much more anticipation he could take. The mattress shifted, and then Corvo did involuntarily hold his breath when he felt Daud move up to cover Corvo’s body with his own. Daud’s lips found his shoulders, his neck, pressing kisses there and licking at beads of sweat.

“Corvo,” Daud breathed, and then he was positioning himself and squeezing Corvo’s thigh. Closer and closer, until he was inside of him, and Corvo lost what sense he had.

“Please,” he whispered. Reaching blindly, he found Daud’s shoulders, then slid his hand up to grip the nape of his neck, where Daud’s hair was damp with sweat. “Daud, _please_.”

“Please what?” Daud rasped.

“Move,” Corvo bit out.

*

Daud did as he was told. Starting slowly, he rocked his hips, waited for Corvo to adjust, then did it again, and again, until he was seated completely and Corvo was panting.

“Breathe,” Daud groaned, laying his forehead against Corvo’s shoulder. “Breathe for me.” He struggled to hold himself back, grinding his teeth as Corvo slowly relaxed underneath him. What, precisely, had made him think it would be a good idea to start with _this_ , when all he wanted was to come already, he mentally berated himself. Eyes bigger than his stomach, that was fucking what, he knew, and now he shuddered as Corvo pushed back against him with a roll of his hips that he should _not_ have possessed the grace to pull off so easily.

Running on instinct, Daud arched his back, pulling away, waited for Corvo’s fingers on the back of his neck to tighten, then bucked forward until he was buried to the hilt.

Corvo moaned. “Yes.”

Slowly, Daud picked up the pace, cursing when Corvo met his thrusts and clenched around him. He watched as Corvo’s free hand gripped the pillows until the knuckles stood white against his flushed skin, listened as Corvo slid into a litany of Daud’s name and bitten-off curses, mangled by commands to give him _more_. Daud bit at his shoulder to rein in the only answer he had.

_You already have everything I am._

Corvo trembled.

“Daud, I—I’m close, I can’t, I—”

In response, Daud snapped his hips and nearly lost any sense of rhythm at the thought. “So come,” Daud growled, too far gone to count the moments and making it sound like a challenge for no damn reason other than wanting to feel Corvo lose himself; and as though snapped off a leash, Corvo groaned, but instead of burying the sound in the pillows, he bent back his head until his cheek was against Daud’s and his voice was in his ear.

“Yes, Daud.”

Snarling, Daud rode him through it, Corvo’s cries spurring on his own release until he was nothing but a shuddering mess above him. It was quiet now apart from their panting breaths, Daud listing forward until he was pressed against Corvo’s back.

Corvo made a muffled noise.

“Hold on, I’ll—”

“Don’t you dare,” Corvo murmured, his hand slipping from Daud’s shoulder and falling onto the mattress. “Stay right there.”

So Daud did, slowly relaxing until he was resting on top of Corvo’s tall frame, their legs tangled. He set a hand on Corvo’s back, drawing fingers up and down his sides, tracing his warm skin, feeling his breathing even out. He himself was calming, too, his thundering heartbeat steadying. He pressed a kiss against Corvo’s shoulder.

It took them a good long while to come back to themselves, in the end, time they spent silent save for the occasional murmur. But eventually, Daud drew back and Corvo made a muffled noise of protest but otherwise remained where he was.

“Come on,” Daud tugged at him. “Clean-up.”

“No,” Corvo whined, burrowing into the sheets.

“Oh yes,” Daud tugged more insistently. “Shower, now.” Corvo harrumphed. “I’ll wash your back.” Another groan. “And your front.“

“That’s not fair,” Corvo rasped.

Daud had to swallow a laugh. “We’re not _that_ young anymore, neither of us, even if I lost a year. Come on, up.”

Still mumbling, Corvo let himself be dragged out of bed, grimacing when he stood.

“See,” Daud said, feeling somewhat smug, taking Corvo’s glare in stride but nearly stopping in his tracks when Corvo wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Alright,” he rumbled.

They made their way to the bathroom together, Daud washing his hands thoroughly while Corvo turned on the taps and waited until the water was warm. Then he reached for Daud and pulled him into the shower, wrapping his arms around him as they stepped under the spray. Corvo hummed when Daud ran his hands down his back.

Even as they shared, hot water didn’t last forever, so Daud made it a point to twist in Corvo’s embrace and reach for the bar of soap. The familiar scent hit him square in the chest, and he bit his lip as he worked the soap into a lather between his hands, then began washing Corvo’s chest.

“You were serious,” Corvo murmured.

“Course I was.” He’d reached Corvo’s hip when Corvo plucked the soap from his hands.

“I’m not letting you do all the work,” Corvo said, bending down to kiss him before running suds down Daud’s back.

Daud knew better than to laugh, and so between them they cleaned each other up, Daud reaching around Corvo and gently rubbing between his cheeks, pressing a kiss to his temple when he made a low noise.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, afraid of the answer but refusing not to ask, pulling back to be able to see Corvo’s face.

Corvo shook his head. “Just been a while, is all. You have bigger hands,” he teased, evidently having no trouble discussing this, “not to mention your—”

“Alright,” Daud cut him off, but a different question sprung to mind. “Did—did she enjoy—?”

“She did,” Corvo answered simply , and Daud had trouble wrapping his mind around it; whispering secrets that were washed away in the water soon as they were spoken.

“Thank you,“ Daud whispered, leaning up.

“What for?” Corvo asked against his lips.

“Sharing your memories of her, even if—even if it’s this,” Daud replied, looking down at Corvo’s chest, lightly running fingertips across scars and recent scrapes.

“There’s no shame in this or anything else,” Corvo said evenly. Daud kissed him again.

When the water began to cool, they turned off the shower and got out, towelling off quickly; Daud watching as Corvo still squeezed his hair the way he would have to have done when it was longer. Corvo caught him looking and smirked, and Daud stubbornly didn’t look away, remembering very well the way he’d gripped that hair earlier. He hadn’t asked why Corvo had cut it, and perhaps he didn’t want to know, but it looked healthier now than the first time Corvo had appeared in the Void and since. So he watched and stayed quiet; and when they were done they left the bathroom. Corvo hesitated, his gaze resting on the clothes still strewn on the floor.

“Can you stay the night?” he asked. Daud nodded, having nowhere particular to be until after dawn; and he was halfway to the bed when Corvo said, “Suppose it’s a question I’ll be asking a lot.” He said it lightly enough — their situation was just what it was, there was no sense in talking it to death. So a simple, ‘suppose so,’ would have done it, but Daud was only too aware in that moment that _staying_ was a rather vexing question altogether. He had thought more about his purpose and his prospects, and he’d come to a decision. This time, Daud did look away when Corvo sought his eyes. He wouldn’t do this _now_.

“Suppose so,” he said, then, but it was too late and Corvo had already noticed his hesitation.

“Daud?” His tone was gentle, and there had been a time when Daud had thought he might never quite suss out how not to clench his fists at that.

“It’s nothing,” Daud tried to delay the inevitable, slipping underneath the covers on the far side of the bed as he was. Corvo was quiet as he joined him, reaching for him as he had so many times before now.

“Tell me,“ Corvo whispered, wrapping his arm around Daud’s shoulders and turning a little so that he might see his face.

Daud suppressed a sigh. Whatever Corvo might be expecting him to say now, it wasn’t going to be… this.

“I’ve… had an idea,” Daud began, burrowing closer into Corvo’s side.

“Oh?” Corvo mumbled, reaching over and brushing strands of hair away from his forehead, a gesture that felt strangely familiar, even though Daud could not place it.

“About what I want to do. About… my place in all this.” Daud held Corvo’s gaze. “You know that, after Brigmore, I wanted to leave.”

“I remember,” Corvo said quietly.

“One part of it was wanting to lead the Whalers out into finding a better life, but the other part was… what I said to Emily was true. I had no idea who I’d be, and I just… wanted to get out of Dunwall, to get my head clear. But then… well, I’ve been in the Void for a year and it wasn’t far enough.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to travel. As your spy, I can track down the targets you can’t. I can try and find out what happened in Tyvia. You can send me out, I can report back. I can look in on the Whalers who left. Guide those who yet want to leave.”

“So you still… you don’t want to stay.”

Daud shook his head, cursing his own ineptitude with… this. “You know who I am, Corvo. Dunwall is still dangerous ground for me. And I’m still a danger to you and Emily.”

“It’s been a year,” Corvo protested. “The Whalers are done, all of Dunwall knows by now.”

“And it’ll stay that way if I can engineer a trail of sightings far _away_ from Dunwall,” Daud countered. “I can move unseen, but it’s even better to hide in plain sight where no-one believes it could possibly be you. You know a thing or two about that.”

Corvo sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “How long? How long until you don’t have to hide from everyone?”

“That’s not likely going to end, and you know it.”

“The Court wouldn’t dare to make a fuss, they’re still afraid of you.”

“This isn’t about upsetting a few nobles, Corvo, it’s about the Abbey.” Daud paused, then played his last card. “You know what they say about the Oracle.”

“They say she knows everything.”

“And one day, she will send someone out on a mission to investigate you. You cannot let your guard down, and I can’t be the one to bring that down on you. I won’t.”

“But you’ll come back?” Corvo asked quietly after a moment.

“I’ll be working for you, won’t I?” Daud allowed himself the jest, but quickly sobered. “I’ve never known what it’s like to have something to come home to. I thought it might make a nice change. Don’t you?”

Smiling now, Corvo nodded, already reaching for him, and Daud stretched up to kiss him. When he pulled away, he cradled Corvo’s cheek in his hand.

“These past few weeks were the happiest I’ve ever been,” he whispered, watching as Corvo lowered his gaze. “And much that I would we lived in one of Emily’s fables and love conquered everything, we do not.”

“Sometimes I think she has the right idea, making her own world to live in,” Corvo muttered. “And at least for now she seeks her adventures in books, rather than the rooftops.”

Daud barely suppressed a groan. “She’ll get there soon enough. We’re _training_ her to, for Void’s sake.”

Previous turmoil temporarily forgotten, Corvo grinned. “We are.“

“And we’ll have an awful time keeping up with her when she’s of age,” Daud nearly shuddered at the thought. He stared into nothing for a moment before looking back at Corvo, who was… staring at _him_.

“What?”

Corvo shook his head minutely.

“Nothing.”

He leaned in to kiss him, and Daud fell into the sensation too quickly to question it. When Corvo pulled away, he was still regarding him as though… as though…

“I fell in love with you the night I kissed you,” Corvo whispered, and the Void may as well have opened up beneath Daud for the weight of it settling in his chest. “But it was not the kiss that did it, it was truly knowing your heart.”

Daud blinked at him, his mind racing and his heart… so full. It ached, but it was the most tempting pain he knew. And he knew it because of Corvo. He knew he was not _expected_ to answer, nor required, but there was safety in this as there had been very little all his life.

“I fell in love with you a dozen times,” he admitted before he’d given himself leave to speak, the words dragged out of him but so readily, as if they’d been waiting. “I did not know on the first, and I doubt I did on the tenth, but when I did I knew it was too good to be true.” He brushed the knuckles of his hand against Corvo’s chin. “I know better now.”

Corvo’s smile was all the reward he needed. Daud sought his hand, and intertwined their fingers.

“I didn’t know what to do with it — with you. How would I?”

“You’ve not been alone all your life,” Corvo didn’t have to ask.

“No,” Daud conceded. “But alone and… solitary, are two different things. I’d not felt for anyone the way I began to feel for you in a long time. And I didn’t believe… I never believed there was a chance,” he finished, averting his gaze and stroking Corvo’s hand with his thumb to give himself something to do.

“You know better now,” Corvo whispered. “And so do I. Daud, I… when you told me you were leaving, that day in my office, I wished I had the courage to tell you. But I knew it was what you had to do, and I know it’s what you need to do now. But I will tell you now what I could not then: come home. No matter where you go, how far or how long. Come home.”

Daud found Corvo’s eyes, so dark and knowable, and his heart was looking out through them. He knew him, as none ever had.

“You are my home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halb zog sie ihn, halb sank er hin…
> 
> a) Do you hate me for that flashback interruption? Do you?  
> b) Did Corvo and Jess get kinkeh? Yes. Yes, they did.  
> c) Is Corvo’s naked ass giving Daud heart palpitations? Yes, yes, it is.  
> d) Did I expect this chapter to get quite this horny? Or so utterly heartwrenching. No. No, I did not.  
> e) Look… I know some of you might be disappointed at Daud’s plans. But he’s still pretty messed up — guilt, and demons, and whatever the Void did to him. Accepting Corvo’s love can’t magically fix him, he will have to fix _himself_. The Knife of Dunwall can’t become Royal Spymaster — not without a mask, and he won’t wear one. He won’t put Emily in that kind of danger. So he’ll travel, and come back, but I promise that he and Corvo are gonna get through all of that TOGETHER.


	15. Chapter Eleven — And I Will Leave With You One Broken Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily has a request to make. Daud and Corvo make an unpleasant discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright alright alright! After last week's gratuitous excursion into the realm of smut (which I hope many of you enjoyed), this time we're back with the cold hard Tru Fax. Such being that the plot must go on and the boys can't just stay in bed all day. Trust me, they would if I let them.
> 
> Another cold hard truth: we're all gettin' older. So much older, in fact, that next week marks the one-year anniversary of this series. Last week precisely a year ago, I started writing the first story. ONE YEAR OF MY LIFE. Never mind. Carry on.
> 
> AND TO CELEBRATE — **I hereby announce that Part 4 of this wonderful saga, The Letters, will premiere on May 4th, 2018.** It'll be six chapters, posted _bi-weekly_ because I got shit to do; and it'll cover, in standalone chapters, the years 1841-1851. Oh heck yeah. hhhhhhhhhh only one chapter left to go on this story!!!
> 
> Also, to celebrate: I made Spotify playlists. [Part 1](https://open.spotify.com/user/ama_23/playlist/2Z4scYeDqJb2kfZLOZrqF2?si=gDT2jBkfQnaEraEeL8xvEw). [Part 2](https://open.spotify.com/user/ama_23/playlist/02ZZZrz2LLBDibuxUWEtVs?si=IH1Ei9LPSqK2HG5WG0spgA). I'll link the one for this story next week.
> 
> This week's soundtrack: [ Way Down We Go by Kaleo.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-7IHOXkiV8&t=0s&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN&index=50)

Daud was comfortable enough on the settee in Corvo’s room, reading reports from the City Watch and the Whalers, when the door opened. He didn’t reach for the Void to hide, as Rulfio was outside and wouldn’t have let anyone in who wasn’t supposed to see him. So he merely looked up, just in time to see Emily bounding into the room. Callista was still by the door, closing it behind her for a moment.

“Daud,” Callista greeted him with a nod. “Corvo said it was alright for Emily to stay with you today while he’s training the new recruits. I’m visiting my uncle and Jameson.”

Daud nodded as Emily made a beeline for Corvo’s desk, inspecting the books he had stacked up next to his notes and maps for anything worth her interest. An undetermined amount of time in the Void had not significantly improved his aptitude with children. Much less empresses. And considering what they’d talked about last time they’d been stuck on their own together… But he had agreed — how could he not?

“Corvo mentioned lessons..?”

“At three,“ Callista replied with a small smile. “History.”

“Ah.” Daud glanced over at Emily, who was valiantly pretending not to hear. “Well, I’ll make sure she’s on time.” Emily made a face, then quickly looked up — upon discovering he was watching her, she seemed to dither between putting on an innocent expression, and a scowl. Eventually, she settled on the latter. Daud bit down on a grin.

“Thank you,” Callista smoothly ignored the silent exchange. “I’ll see you tonight, Emily,” she bid her charge goodbye.

“Bye, Callista!” Emily waved, and beyond the stern expression of the governess, Daud could see Callista’s affection for the young Empress clear as day. With another nod at Daud, she bowed out.

“How’s Jameson doing?” Daud asked out of genuine curiosity rather than to be polite. He’d had his reservations about the boy when he’d first returned to the Tower after having to survive on his own during the Plague, and having been… away for so long, Daud had no handle on what had come of it in the meantime.

“He’s getting better, I think,” Emily said, lifting a heavy tome and turning her head to read the title, then puffing out her cheeks and swiftly dropping it. (Something to do with history, if Daud had to guess.) “When he first came back to the Tower, Corvo told me to pay attention to what frightens him so I don’t accidentally scare him. When we ready stories now, sometimes he picks something I know he would have been scared of before, even if I tell him.”

Daud hummed. “He’s likely still scared of them now.” Fear like that never… went away. You just learnt to handle it. Daud had worked with enough broken children to know that. Many enough broken adults, too.

“Then why read them?“ Emily frowned in confusion.

“You’re there to read them with him,” was the simplest answer Daud had.

Emily threw him a quizzical glance, and then abandoned Corvo’s reading pile for a lost cause, heading over towards Daud. She sat down next to him, peering at the papers in his lap and strewn across the side table.

“Have you already finished your drawing of Rinaldo’s ‘accident’ with the rats?” Daud asked her, to his shame, slightly worried that she hadn’t brought anything with her to entertain herself, as she was not usually found without a pile of drawings or a book under her arm. He’d barely finished the thought when he mentally scolded himself. He was hardly _scared_ of a young child; and he was… Corvo’s partner, for lack of a better word; even if they had not told Emily about their relationship. She meant the world to him. He was no-one’s father, but he could damn well try and be someone she could rely on.

“No, it’s upstairs. That’s alright, I wanted to read anyway,“ she told him, motioning at the stack of storybooks piled on the rug in front of the fireplace.

“Alright,” Daud said, and he would have gone back to his own reading, but something in Emily’s manner held him back. She glanced up at him, then away again, as if she was nervous. Worry found its way into Daud’s thoughts.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Daud closed the folder in his lap to show he was listening. “Go ahead.” What was it she’d told him, she wasn’t likely to stop asking? Daud should have known she might use the first opportunity she got to needle him. She sat down next to him, turning so as to face him.

“I want to go into the Void. I want to _see_ ,” she said insistently, looking up at him with a pleading expression.

For a good long moment, Daud didn’t know what to do with himself. “That’s not a question. And it’s too dangerous.” It was the most predictable — but also the truest — answer he could give.

“You were there for over a year!“ she exclaimed. “You’re alive! What harm is it going to do if I’m there for five minutes?”

“I didn’t live thanks to anything I did,” he countered, “I had protection, and luck.” Protected by the spell, or by the Outsider, Daud didn’t have the energy to debate just then.

“You and Corvo can protect me.”

“Emily,” he slipped into a sterner tone quite without meaning to, and she frowned.

“You sound like Corvo,” she told him.

“With good reason.”

“I understand Corvo worries about me, but—”

“And I don’t?“ Daud interrupted her, the words leaving him before he could chain them up for both their sakes. She stopped short at that. “I’m not about to let you near the Void any sooner than Corvo.”

Her eyes remained fixed on his face. “Not even if—”

“No.” Daud remembered only too clearly when Corvo had come to find him after the Outsider had appeared in Emily’s dreams — a nightmare brought on by a rune she’d dug up, they’d later found out. He sighed.

So did Emily.

“Fine,” she conceded. “But if I can’t go to the Void, then you have to promise we’ll do something fun instead!”

Daud did his best not to shudder at hearing the word ‘fun.’

“Anything but the Void, kid,” he mumbled, restricting the impulse to rub his forehead, “anything but the Void.”

She grinned, which should have probably tipped him off that he was _not_ going to like what came next.

“I want to see the city!”

*

“She wants to _what_?“ Corvo asked. He’d just returned from training. Daud and Rulfio had escorted Emily to her history lessons just before three, Rinaldo already waiting to stand guard; and then Daud had returned to Corvo’s quarters alone to finish up his reports and wait for him. They were standing by Corvo’s desk now, Daud watching as Corvo sorted away his things.

“She’s sick of being cooped up here all the time,” Daud summarised and, really, he could relate. And at least _he_ could leave. “She wants to see the city, the markets, watch the people she’s supposed to rule. She barely knows anyone but us, her tutors, and those sycophants at Court.”

Corvo tilted his head at him. “Are those her words, or are you agreeing with her?”

Daud dithered a little. “Both,” he admitted.

“So what did you tell her?”

“I told her I’d speak to you, and not make it sound like she’s sent me ahead,” Daud responded wryly.

“Oh, that second one went swimmingly,” Corvo teased. He leaned in to kiss Daud’s cheek as he passed him on the way to the dresser to change his clothes.

Daud grinned, then shrugged. Corvo sighed.

“The markets are a mess, twice as crowded as they used to be since the blockade was lifted. New shops are opening every week, even Drapers Ward is getting back on its feet,” he said as he worked his vest open.

Daud weighed the options. “Drapers Ward might be an idea,” he suggested, and Corvo fairly boggled at him.

“Drapers Ward?“ he asked sharply. “Between the Hatters and the Eels, and cut-throat cloth merchants in between?”

“The Tower District is dull as bricks,” Daud countered. “She’ll be bored by all the courtiers after ten minutes; and the reporters at the _Courier_ are going to throw themselves out a window for a chance to talk to her. Drapers Ward is just rich enough for her to feasibly go without inviting too much scrutiny.”

“You’re liking this idea far too much,” Corvo decided, narrowing his eyes. He was taking off his shirt now, and Daud silently cursed him.

“Emily needs to see more of the world if she’s to understand it,” Daud argued, not letting himself get distracted. “Look, we know better than to establish a pattern of public appearances. She can take carriage rides up and down the district if she wants, Rinaldo can go with her if you’re busy. But at least occasionally…”

“You understand why I’m reluctant?”

“I do.” Daud tilted his head. “Did Jessamine never want to escape?” It wasn’t a question he asked lightly.

“Of course she did.”

“And did you indulge her?”

“Of course I did.” Before Daud could reply, Corvo continued, “But that was 20 years ago.”

It was moments like this that the reminder of just how long Corvo and Jessamine had known each other, from when they were young into adulthood, beginning a relationship and _raising a child_ together, sent Daud reeling a little. He’d known Corvo for, what, two years now? And already both of them had done things they’d never thought possible. But still Daud sometimes felt like he could never live up to what Corvo had already shared with someone else.

Shaking off the thought, Daud returned to the argument he was making. “And don’t you think, seeing more of those who lived in the empire she ruled, Jessamine knew better how to lead them?”

Corvo glared at him. “That’s not playing fair.“

“Never claimed I did,” Daud volleyed back more confidently than he felt. _Besides_ , he thought, _says the man standing there in his underwear_.

Corvo breathed out on a sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

 

Corvo did indeed think about it, later, debating with himself the risks of such a venture. Of course he saw the sense in Daud’s words — and to think that Daud would argue so persistently in Emily’s favour could only have deepened his love for him. It was Daud who had suggested he consider Abigail Ames, who had proved herself as a valuable ally on Emily’s council; reminding Corvo of things he himself would like to think he had always held true in his heart. Daud had, more than once, expressed his irritation with how Corvo had found his way to Gristol — given away as a gift, he’d griped, and Corvo had protested as had been ingrained in him since he was sixteen. Winning the Blade Verbena had opened doors; even those into the Duke’s palace. Corvo had won Theodanis’ favour, had served in the Grand Guard, and he’d done so proudly.

When the time had come that he’d be sent to Dunwall at nineteen, he had consoled his mother and told her to dry her tears. It’d been shortly after his arrival that news reached him from Karnaca — losing her last child to the winds carrying them away, she’d succumbed to Bloodfly Fever within weeks. Corvo had been faced with a choice, then. To be angry at the circumstances that had taken him; or to do his best not to gamble away what he’d been given. To make his mother proud. And so he’d done what had been asked of him, had accepted his appointment as Royal Protector with the solemn vow never to fail in his assignment.

He’d gotten used to living at the Tower, albeit not the privileges of his status — certainly not the somewhat limited respect he was afforded because of it. Emperor Euhorn’s bodyguard, a tall and severe former Captain of the Watch, had been kind enough to him; showed him the pathways no-one else knew but that assassins might well find out about. He’d given him pointers on the noble families and their particular interests when Spymaster Burrows barely deigned to spare him a glance. Corvo had felt keenly enough the difference in the demeanours of those they encountered when working together at Court. When Euhorn died, the old Captain had retired on the day of Jessamine’s coronation; and wished them both good luck and a long, prosperous life.

But even as Corvo was never allowed to forget where he came from, there were things he learnt to accept. The Pendleton mines were no different from those in Serkonos, he thought, and the work gruelling but necessary. It was perhaps unequal but necessary, too, that the decisions were made by those who owned those mines, not by those who worked in them — and not just the mines, but the slaughterhouses and refineries, too. It’d come slowly, creeping in. Jessamine had never lost her more rebellious nature, had still looked for small escapes for them both. But Corvo had lost sight of some of the truths he’d known as a boy. It had taken Daud pushing him to consider Ames, and Ames herself in her stubborn refusal to let anyone silence her, for Corvo to rediscover some of them.

So now, when Emily wanted to move among her subjects and Corvo’s first instinct was to refuse her because of the danger, real or hypothetical, was that in the service of his protective nature as Protector and father — or was it complacency? Or worse, complicity? This was not a question he’d be able to answer in one afternoon.

* * *

 

“You ready for this?” Corvo asked as he secured the straps that held his crossbow in place against his thigh.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Daud rumbled as he attached his wrist bow; and he sounded just smug enough for Corvo not to worry. This was the first time they’d go out together, the first time… since Brigmore. It was ‘just’ a patrol run, and any other day, Corvo would have been inclined to agree, but not tonight. He refrained from extracting promises — promises he knew they could not keep, no more when out on patrol and than when facing down the most powerful witch of her age. Promises Daud would raise a brow at before kicking them to the curb. Daud did not have a death wish, but he would always do what he had to. That, Corvo had long accepted; even if he vowed to do his utmost not to let it come to the worst. Daud would do the same, he knew, and it was that that prevented his hands from shaking now.

Corvo unclipped the mask from his belt and put it on, and when he looked up, found Daud staring at him. Uncertain what to say, Corvo waited. Eventually, Daud swallowed visibly and averted his gaze for a moment before looking back at him.

“I thought I’d never see your face again,” he said quietly. “And certainly not this mask.”

Corvo hesitated, then pronounced the idea he’d been toying with all day.

“Do you… would you want to wear it?“

Daud’s eyes widened. “Me? Corvo, that’s not—”

Corvo shrugged. “We might as well confuse them properly.”

“No,” Daud shook his head, surprise having given way to irritation. “That mask was given to you for a reason, it’s your identity that needs protecting, not mine.”

“And you’re not the Knife of Dunwall anymore,“ Corvo held firm, nearly tripping over the words as he realised he was not quite sure if they were true. Daud didn’t kill anymore, and certainly not for coin; he wasn’t who he’d been. But how could such a man ever be separated from his _title_?

“No, I’m not,” Daud’s rough voice sent his thoughts scattering. “But I was never the man in the mask.”

*

Their route today would lead them to the docks between the Old Waterfront and the Estate District — not the biggest port in Dunwall, but by far the best place to pick up gossip and information alike, if just because those who had the biggest ears also tended to be the ones shipping the biggest crates of unmentionable goods. Blinking and transversing across the rooftops, they soon reached the Estate District and made their way towards the river. Corvo refrained from checking whether Daud was still behind him, and listened for hitches in his breathing instead, for irregularities in his gait. He heard only Daud’s familiar, even breathing as he transversed and waited before crossing the chasm between two roofs, or running alongside Corvo on the other side. Corvo had watched him spar with the Whalers often enough in the past weeks to know that he was close to the shape he was in before the Void — but _close_ was just that. Still, their journey passed without incident, and Daud shot him a grin when they’d arrived at their destination.

Ever since the Geezer’s death, the Hatters had been beaten and cornered, especially since the City Watch had moved back into Drapers Ward. Both rival gangs, the Hatters _and_ the Eels, had been forced to move back underground, no more doing their business quite so brazenly. Where Lizzy Stride and her gang of smugglers were single-handedly responsible for much of the illegal trade between the Isles, the Hatters had been an operation based on exploitation of workers who had run out of options and, under Trimble’s regime, ransacking what wasn’t nailed down in broad daylight. The Hatters had made profit off the Plague and stood reason to mourn its passing; and while the Eels’ coffers had swelled in light of the blockade and Gristol’s miserable situation, they hadn’t made quite such a spectacle of themselves. The Hatters thrived on chaos, and now that Dunwall was being put back to order, they didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves.

Once they were at the docks, it wasn’t difficult to pick out the gang’s members — their atrocious headgear, at least, if not their faces — and Corvo and Daud watched them milling about and chatting to deck hands, watched coin pass between them in exchange for information. Corvo’s own informants had indicated that the Hatters were gearing up for a deal of large size but unspecified contents. Daud, too, had kept his ear to the ground and heard similar rumblings, but likewise nothing concrete. The earlier they might find out some of those details, the better they would be able to prevent it.

It was Daud who nudged his shoulder and diverted his attention towards the West. Approaching the docks was a group of people who were clearly neither Hatters nor Eels. The Bottle Street Gang rarely crossed the river — they had no need to, Slackjaw held the Distillery District in the palm of his hand after the presumed demise of Granny Rags — and these men were certainly not of their ilk, either. Curious as to what they wanted, Corvo nodded for Daud to take his eyes off the Hatters and watch the others instead. Daud tapped his arm in acknowledgement, then set off towards the other end of the small port.

Realising that the Hatters had moved, Corvo blinked to follow them further towards one of the side alleys serving as delivery routes for nearby shops and, as was proper for any harbour, the local pub.

“Alright, when are those buyers of yours gonna show?”

Corvo could hear them better now, away from the night-time bustle of the docks.

“Give ‘em a few more minutes. They’re a bit from the posh side.”

“Posh side of what? Your mother’s arse?” The Hatter closest to Corvo’s vantage point cackled. Even though made enough noise for a dozen, there were four Hatters loitering in the alley below now, two towards the front and two hanging back a little. It was then that Corvo spotted a stack of crates, haphazardly covered by a tarp, close to the Hatter furthest from him. He frowned under the mask — was this a preliminary meeting to establish the goods, or was this the deal itself? If it was, both Corvo and Daud’s so-called intelligence wouldn’t prove all that reliable.

With a flutter of the Void, Daud reappeared next to him.

“What about—“

“They’re headed this way. No idea who they are,” Daud explained, voice pitched low so as not to carry into the cavernous space between the houses. Daud pointed over Corvo’s shoulder, and so he twisted around where he perched. And indeed, the mysterious group now moving towards the alley in question did seem somewhat… posh.

“It’s tonight,” Corvo hissed when he turned back to Daud. “The information was overdue.”

“At least not entirely useless,” Daud rumbled, watching the Hatters below. “Any idea what they’re selling?”

Corvo pointed towards the back, the Hatter and the crates. “I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

“Oi,” the Hatters’ seeming ‘leader’ called when the newcomers were within hearing range. “O’er here.” The group approached. “Which one of you’s Brockburn?”

“That would be me,“ a tall man with distinctly _upper_ class bearing pronounced. “Ludlow?”

“Aye.”

”Alright.“ Seeming even more ridiculously out of place now that Corvo heard him speak, Brockburn was visibly either unsettled, intimidated, or both, much as he tried to use his status to hide behind; to act as though back-alley deals with one of Dunwall’s most volatile gangs were par for the course for a man of his means and standing. Corvo didn’t have look at him up close to know it wasn’t so. “Have you what I asked?”

“Aye.” The Hatter called Ludlow motioned over his shoulder,

Obviously confused as to whether that meant he should advance further into the alley, Brockburn dithered. “What now, man,” he barked, but his voice was too reedy to have impressed even a fresh-faced lower watch guard.

Ludlow chuckled, a menacing sound. For all that Corvo and Daud weren’t afraid of him, Brockburn surely was. “Bartlett,” he called.

The Hatter standing by the crates flicked the stub of his cigarette into the gutter. “Alright.” From above, they watched as he flipped back the tarp, then tapped one of the crates and used the edge of a quickly produced knife to lift the lid.

“Shit,” Daud cursed under his breath.

Corvo ground his teeth as he recognised the telltale glow that emanated from within, brighter than usual in the twilight. Exploding rounds. Deadly, and even more expensive since the rationing decree had gone into effect — bullets filled with half-processed whale oil, still volatile enough to make them a pain to carry around. Corvo shifted the lenses in his mask to get a closer look. Cases upon cases. Pistols, too.

“A dozen pistols,” Ludlow said as Bartlett passed one of the bullets along, “plus ammunition for each.”

“All exploding rounds?“ Brockburn asked suspiciously. “They’re not cheap, and production has nearly ceased.”

“Which is why you’re paying me an extra five thousand,“ Ludlow answered.

Brockburn accepted the proffered bullet and inspected it.

Ludlow watched him and continued, “I guess you’re not going hunting.”

“Let me see the guns.”

Bartlett moved to open the other crate, but Ludlow held up a hand. “You good for the extra five thousand?”

There, Brockburn seemed to have found some ground he knew — haggling. “You already know I am. And if I were good for ten thousand more, the price would be ten. Now show me what I came for.”

From the way Ludlow looked Brockburn up and down, sizing him up, it was clear the Hatter didn’t much believe in grandstanding — unless it was his own. Still, he nodded at Bartlett, who went and returned with one of the pistols.

“Ever shot one?” Ludlow asked conversationally — and realistically, Corvo found.

“That is none of your concern,” Brockburn held him off, but he did know his way around a gun, Corvo surmised from the way he handled the weapon; careful not to point the barrel at anyone while inspecting the magazine chamber and, making sure it wasn’t loaded, pulled back the hammer and released the trigger to test the recoil. “Acceptable,” he declared. “We can make the payment now, and give you a dead-drop location for the remaining coin.”

“Sounds good to me,“ Ludlow agreed.

Corvo felt the adrenaline surge in his gut — they were making the deal _now_. He vaguely recognised the name, Brockburn, from Dunwall’s business registries, but he’d never met the man; nor could he fathom why he would buy illegal arms from the Hatters, of all gangs. Whatever it was, whatever these people were planning, Corvo would find out — once they’d been arrested.

“Stay up here and cover me if more of them arrive,” he whispered. He was getting ready to move when Daud’s hand clamped down on his arm.

“That’s too many to take on on your own,” he hissed.

“Not with Bend Time,“ Corvo insisted. He’d interrupted a few deals just like this since his return to his role as Royal Protector, with Daud’s help and without, and loath though he was to remind him, he’d gotten by just fine on his own.

“They’re spread out too far, if you bend time and then blink down, you’re going to need at least one elixir, especially with that bone charm,” Daud tapped the one strapped to Corvo’s left upper arm as he spoke — the kind that helped them overwhelm enemies faster. “Which you’ll need to even have a chance to get through them before time unspools again.“

“So what now?” Corvo fought down the dread rising within him — he had not expected there to be so many of them; and he had not expected it to be _this_ kind of deal.

Daud shrugged. “Let _me_ bend time. It’ll give you range.”

Corvo wanted to argue, wanted to ask if Daud had even attempted such complicated Void magic since his return, but there was movement below and he knew they were running out of time. He dithered for just another moment.

“Fine.”

Daud nodded, then clenched his fist, his Mark flaring to life. “Go.”

Corvo dropped from the edge of the roof just as Daud called upon the Void and merged it with the world around them. Corvo had never thought to test the limits of the spell, how far in any direction he could travel — not in time, as it were, but in space — to see if they truly had the power to halt _everything_ around them, even places they would never be able to reach, even with Blink. Could they truly halt the turn of the world? But Corvo had no time — ha! — now to be philosophical.

He landed on the nearest Hatter, knocking the thug to the ground and his head against the pavement. Out cold, Corvo left him where he was. From above, Daud sent two sleep darts flying towards the Hatters furthest from him. That left the three unknown agents. Corvo choked out one, then two, but as he turned and went for the throat of the third, he knew it hadn’t been fast enough. Above him, Daud cursed, and as Corvo flew towards the man called Brockburn, the Void opened at the close and left the world as it’d been. Brockburn reared back, raising his hands as if that might protect him.

“The Masked Assassin!“ he cried, and hidden behind the mask, Corvo snarled.

“That’s Felon to you,“ he growled when he reached him, then twisted him around to take him into a chokehold. Brockburn struggled, panicking when he saw the other members of his party and the Hatters crumble to the ground, unmoving.

“Witch—!” He passed out before he could complete the accusation, and Corvo let his body sink down by his feet. A second later, Daud landed by his side.

“Nicely done,“ he rumbled, surveying the damage. “Check the cargo, I’ll search the bodies.“

Corvo nodded and moved reflexively; only when he was prying open the crates did he remember that Daud technically worked _for_ him. He smiled to himself, examining the ammunition cases and finding that the shipment was indeed all in order. Some things would never change, and Corvo found he didn’t want them to. He and Daud had been a team from the moment they’d gone on their first mission together and their roles had changed as they’d needed them to, relying on each other’s experience and capabilities as easily as their own. It would be the same now, and even as Daud had submitted his services to the Crown, what passed between them were not _orders_.

Corvo removed the topmost crate and opened the bottom one, revealing a dozen pistols minus the one now lying on the pavement where Brockburn had dropped it in his panic. All present and accounted for: for once, the Hatters hadn’t tried to screw over their buyers, it seemed.

“Devin Brockburn,” Daud told him as he came walking towards him, carrying the papers he’d taken off those who had any identification on them. “Local import and export business, going by his calling cards.”

“And the others?”

“No-one we’ve had cause to investigate before,“ Daud answered easily, and not for the first time Corvo marvelled at his ability to retain information collected over years and years, to be called upon precisely and at a moment’s notice.

“Well, we do now,” Corvo shut the crates decisively. “And we have to find out where and when these were taken; and why we weren’t informed.“

“What about—” Daud broke off, twisting around to face the mouth of the alley. Corvo leaned forward and, in the light cast by distant street lamps, he saw shadows approaching.

“We have to go,” Corvo hissed at Daud, reaching for his shoulder.

“Hey, Ludlow, is the deal done—shit!“ The shadows approached at a run, now.

“Too late,” Daud growled back, and transversed into the shadows. Corvo turned on his heel and crouched into cover behind the crates. Using his powers, he could see three men entering the alleyway; and at the edges of his perception, Daud, hidden against the wall at the entrance. If the Hatters stepped far enough into the alley, they could box them in from both ends. The Hatters marched closer to where Corvo was hiding, their blades drawn and spoiling for a fight, nudging the bodies strewn across the ground with their toes of their boots.

“Are they dead?“ one of them asked.

“Nah, just knocked out,” another answered, then spat on the ground. “Damn man in the mask.”

“You think he did this?“

“Who else? When the bastard got done terrorising the nobles and the little Empress was back in her Tower, he came back for seconds; only he leaves Lizzy and her hagfish alone. Even Slackjaw gets a pass. Only ever gets up on our asses when he feels like it.”

“Pfft,” the third Hatter scoffed. “You ever seen him? Has anyone?“

“No.” A dramatic pause. “And that’s how I know it’s him.”

Behind the crates, Corvo rolled his eyes.

“If it was him, then why are the goods still here?”

“He ain’t gonna carry it all out o’ here all by his lonesome, is he?”

The first Hatter had now wandered dangerously close to Corvo’s hiding spot. The other two were hanging back, but that wouldn’t last. Knowing Daud was watching, Corvo clenched his fist and let his Mark flare to life. Opening his eyes to see with the Void, he saw Daud’s spectre nod. A wraithlike hand lifted three fingers to count.

Two.

One.

Corvo leapt from behind the crate at the same time as Daud got his arms around the other Hatter’s throat. The third Hatter, caught in the middle, yelled out a rather pedestrian curse. Corvo put his Hatter in a chokehold, but the thug was taller than even him, and broad as a cupboard. He threw himself forward and managed to dislodge Corvo for long enough to turn his Hatter blade in his grip, stabbing backwards. Corvo twisted out of the way, then used the man’s shoulders to heave himself up against his back; and this time, the Hatter couldn’t escape the vice. Sword arm dangling uselessly at his side, he beat his left fist against Corvo’s arms ineffectually a few times, then gurgled and groaned before he stilled, unconscious.

Corvo let the thug drop to the ground and looked up — Daud had had less trouble with the first of the Hatters, but the third had opted to fight in lieu of running; and instead of wasting a sleep dart on him, Daud was standing, his fists raised like a bareknuckle boxer, waiting for the thug to make a move. The alley afforded enough shadows to obscure his face, but still — this was taking a risk. Corvo itched to intervene when, before he could make the decision, the Hatter lunged forward, slashing at Daud with a knife. Daud side-stepped him with ease and grabbed his wrist, twisting it in his grasp. Then he brought up his left arm and, without hesitation, slammed it into the Hatter’s locked elbow. The Hatter cried out, dropping the knife. Daud let go of his wrist and shoved at him, staggering him backwards, then set off after him and, while the Hatter was still moving to cradle his arm, knocked him clean out with a right hook.

For a moment, Corvo could only stare. He knew Daud was proficient in hand-to-hand, they’d resorted to fist fights many times in the past — especially when Corvo’s grief and anger had gotten the better of him, he reminded himself — but he’d never seen him fight anyone else like this outside of training the novices. Daud _could_ have just hit the Hatter with a sleep dart. He had chosen not to.

“Daud?” He watched as Daud picked up the Hatter’s knife and slipped it into his own belt.

“We need to go,” was all Daud said, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. “Alert the Watch on the way and lead them here.”

Corvo knew the ins and outs of it — if they’d known that the deal was supposed to happen tonight, they’d have brought a few Whalers along, both to even the numbers and to be able to arrest the Hatters on the spot and confiscate the contraband. As such, they would have to lay breadcrumbs for the nearest patrol and hope they knew how to do their jobs. But what Daud had just done… there was no time to talk about it here.

So he nodded, and blinked back up to the roof.

* * *

 

They didn’t immediately return to the Tower, instead making a detour via the small apartment Daud had been staying in. Daud hadn’t quite closed the window behind them when Corvo rounded on him, mask already off and short, damp hair sticking to his forehead before he brushed it back in an impatient gesture.

“What was that?” he asked, close enough to a demand to sound more judgemental than he probably intended.

“What was what?” Daud returned, feeling a hankering to remove his gloves to inspect his knuckles; as if one easy hit might split the skin through the thick leather and leave him marked with blood. At least it would have been his own this time.

“Why did you fight him when you could have just sleep darted him?”

“It was barely a fight,” Daud found himself saying.

“You broke his arm,” Corvo countered, crossing his arms, the mask still dangling from his fingertips. Dread settled in Daud’s chest, and something else familiar.

“You’re disappointed,” Daud concluded, turning away and removing a few notes he’d taken off the Hatters and their ‘customers,’ throwing them on the table in the corner. Now that Corvo couldn’t see his face, he pressed his lips together. That hadn’t taken long, then.

Corvo stepped closer, hovering at his back, but didn’t touch him. “What happened?”

‘Nothing happened,’ Daud _wanted_ to say, but it wouldn’t have been the truth, would it? Instead, he sighed, his hands stilling. “I don’t know. He had it coming.”

“Hatters always have it coming,” Corvo said in an attempt at humour Daud could not help but appreciate. “But you’re usually more efficient than this.”

Daud didn’t know what to say to that. _He_ didn’t know what had made him engage the Hatter so openly, except that it had felt _good_. He’d finally gotten to flex muscles he hadn’t used in so long, even before… all of this. Daud had always preferred a blade through the heart to any drawn out battles, much as the majority of his targets wouldn’t have been a match for him even if they had known their way around a sword. It would never have been much of a fight, but that Hatter had left himself wide open.

“Is… is it the Void?” Corvo asked quietly.

At that, Daud turned on his heel to meet his eyes. “What?”

“When you were in the Void, some of the things you said…”

Corvo trailed off there, and Daud’s heart stuttered in his chest. He’d known that eventually, all of that would catch up with him. And now it had. “Corvo—”

“I was afraid the Void had changed you,” Corvo cut him off. The words were spoken in a rush, as if escaping quite against Corvo’s will. As… comfortable as many things had become between them, the subject of the Void was never going to have been an easy one to touch upon. That they were doing so now… these weren’t the circumstances Daud would have chosen. But then, he’d have probably chosen ‘never,’ had it been an option.

“It’s not the Void that makes me want to knock a Hatter on his ass,” Daud told him drily.

“No? Then what does?” Corvo took another step closer.

“Corvo… the Void only feeds on what is already there, it doesn’t change who you are. If anything, it changes who you present yourself to be.”

“That means to change you,“ Corvo insisted, but Daud shook his head. He couldn’t know.

“Corvo, the cruelty you accused me of? There’s enough of that in me already, the Void didn’t need to plant it there.” They weren't talking about the Hatter anymore now. “I did what I thought I had to do to make you leave me.”

“It didn’t work,” Corvo reminded him, dark eyes searching his face. “And it _won’t_.“

“I’m not trying, Corvo,” Daud growled.

“You dismissed me,” Corvo continued, and Daud could see long-buried anger rising in his eyes. “You dismissed all of us. You _wanted_ to stay in the Void.”

Daud evaded his gaze.

“Why? You deserve better, Daud.”

Daud bit back a groan. “Please don’t tell me what I deserve.” Corvo’s anger, he could handle, even his disappointed hopes for Daud’s so-called redemption. But not this. This, he didn’t _want_.

“You would have abandoned me,” Corvo rasped, unfettered now that their feelings lay open between them and they didn’t have to lie. It was the first time he’d so openly accused Daud of what he’d done. “You would have abandoned me to _hide._ ”

And that was the root of it, wasn’t it? Daud was a coward, and Corvo had finally found him out. Corvo surprised him, then, when he reached out and took Daud’s hand in his own.

“I don’t want you to hide. Your past is not who you are. Please believe me,” he squeezed Daud’s hand when he looked away. “Please believe me when I tell you that I love you.”

“I do believe you,” Daud murmured, listing towards him, seeking Corvo’s warmth in the dark. “But I also know you’re right to be angry. I ran away, and I—”

“Don’t you see?” Corvo interrupted him. “Don’t you see I was angry because you were hurting yourself, not because you were running? I understand _why_. I just couldn’t leave you to that pain.”

“What do you want me to do? Corvo, you can’t… you can’t be the one to fix me.“

“I know that. But I need you to believe that _you can_. That you owe it to yourself to try.”

“That might be the harder trick,” Daud admitted quietly.

“I know. So until then, you can owe it to me.”

Daud lifted his gaze at that, surprised, then sighed. “This isn’t how I wanted to…“

“I know. But I’m glad we did.”

“Are you?“ Daud asked doubtfully.

Corvo nodded, smiling just a little. “Are you coming back to the Tower with me?”

“If you’ll have me.” There was no challenge in it, perhaps, but an open door, just in case. Even as Daud knew that, yes, he _wanted_ to, he did not quite know how to say it. He might not ever learn, he thought, and could only hope Corvo would know anyway.

“Yes,” Corvo whispered, leaning closer, his breath brushing Daud’s cheek. He waited, and Daud knew what for. He nodded, once, barely more than a jerk of his head. Corvo’s lips so soft against his own, Daud knew that this would be his doom. He didn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Emily got the right end of the stick in approaching Daud first in re: something she knew Corvo wouldn't like; but she was not prepared for his utter dad-ness.  
> b) Corvo: takes his shirt off. Daud: mmmpppffhhhsjfhsjfhsfj  
> c) People buying loads of guns from the Hatters???? Oh my!!!  
> d) Daud taking risks???? Oh my!!!!  
> e) Did you *really* think Daud was gonna be any less of a walnut about this?  
> f) Also, for those of you who know John Mulaney — the Void smacking Daud awake with a newspaper: "The other shoe just dropped."
> 
> Also, if anyone's interested: [Corvo/Jessamine/Daud OT3 AU right here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13856703/chapters/31873566).


	16. Chapter Twelve — Whom I Will Teach You to Repair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud faces the past and the future. Corvo decides there is no time like the present. Emily gets her wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ON THIS DAY in 2017, I posted the first chapter of It Seemed the Better Way. Since then, this story, this AU, has given me so much joy. It has become my constant companion, and it's legit kept me sane through some of 2017's antics.
> 
> But most importantly, what this story has given me, is _you_. Every single one of you makes my day, my week, my month, my _year_ with your encouragement (and yelling) and kindness (and yelling) and flailing (and, well, yelling). Your enjoyment and support mean so, so much. So as I'm now preparing to take on Part 4, I remember all the love you've sent my way; and I hope to see you all again for the continuation of this. I hope this last chapter will make you laugh and cry and look forward to what's coming next. **Thank you.** And see you in May.
> 
> More music than usual this week:  
> For Daud and Corvo — [Never Let Me Go, Florence + the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYkOwjBnY08&t=0s&index=51&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).  
> For Emily — [My Silver Lining, First Aid Kit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKL4X0PZz7M&t=0s&index=52&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).  
> Credit Song — [Until We Go Down, Ruelle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bQqUYFjcyOc&t=0s&index=53&list=PLY1Uwm5rZ4zOVXyBOsEZlCATCUdaVFWrN).  
> [Here's the Spotify playlist for this story](https://open.spotify.com/user/ama_23/playlist/58sM9k8xs44DlFHuZVdxMd?si=0OR6e8sQQ4eXNDVsATBMKA).
> 
> [And here's the ebook version!](https://jmp.sh/KlvoP8f)

It was another few days hence before Daud worked up the courage to check his forgotten coat — still locked away in Corvo’s dresser — for the key to the room they had let him use after their return to the Tower. It contained not only his archives and what personal belongings the Whalers had elected not to burn along with their own, but also the paintings, and the lantern. Corvo had not destroyed them _yet_ , and still Daud wondered if that was born from fear that Daud himself might use them. He’d told Corvo that the Void couldn’t have him, not until his time came; and he’d prefer it did at Corvo’s side. The Void was too much a place that wasn’t, too cold and too endless, and much as it called to him through his Mark and the shards of magic settled deep in his bones, it didn’t want him back just yet. They would set fire to Delilah’s legacy — her swirls of colour and her lantern, and perhaps then they might be free of the chaos she’d wrought on their lives.

He took a deep breath and opened the crate that held his logs, journals, and other… things of which he’d always warned the Whalers. He’d endeavoured not to keep souvenirs of jobs, as he’d thought them crass and ultimately boring; and what else had there been? Without personal connections to speak of, they’d been left to each other, and though he knew that the novices had sometimes exchanged food on birthdays, any trinkets they’d found were sold and the coin went into the coffers that paid their cut. Daud himself had kept no memories, neither of his childhood nor his travels — only the Mark on his hand and the bloodlust in his gut; and the latter could have been born from either. But there were still recollections tied to the things he found now: maps, floor markings obscured by his hand and notes detailing an approach or guard rotation, and unused bone charms. Useful things. But also shells from the shores of the Wrenhaven that would find their way into his office by way of novices practising their stealth and leaving them in unseen places to prove their daring, and books he’d read and liked and not thrown into the fire during the Month of High Cold. Not merely things that brought him pain.

And in between, tucked in between the pages of a penny dreadful he was reasonably sure hadn’t belonged to him but was now his to keep, he found something familiar. The picture Emily had drawn of him, the one he’d kept hidden for the principle of it but not the thing itself. Drawings of the Whalers, too, in their uniforms but without their masks, guardians and assassins both. They’d kept watch over her while he couldn’t.

Daud remembered very well what it was like before he went into the Void, precisely because so many things were different now.

His Whalers used to be a part of him; and while the connection was volatile and intrusive, it had become a part of who he was. Now, he was alone in his connection to the Void, and something about that felt — selfishly — good. He had attained Arcane Bond very early on, shortly after the first novices had joined him, as though the Void or the Outsider had wanted to throw him a fucking _hint_. He had never had his powers solely to himself for very long, then, and part of him relished the feeling now. But was it worth it? Not to share what he could do, with people who clearly still wanted to, who had stayed in this powder keg of a city, plague-ridden and ground into the dirt, to help drag his sorry ass from the Void?

Daud remembered, too, how his powers had become entangled with Corvo’s the longer they trained and, for a time, lived together. It had been a source of comfort and a curse, to feel _Corvo_ in the other most important connection he had in his life. He knew it’d been that entanglement that had drawn Corvo to him in the Void — he shouldn’t have been able to find him, but he had.

Before he’d gone into the Void, Daud had decided to count his blessings, to accept what he was given, and to make his peace. He had perhaps never expected to survive Delilah.

He remembered waking in Corvo’s bed, in Corvo’s arms, just days before they set out for Brigmore. The alarm had not yet rung, and Corvo had been fast asleep at his back. Daud had loved him then, desperately, and tried not to think about leaving him, as he’d known he must. Had listened to his even breathing and known that the inevitable end — by death, by fire, by merely a word — of whatever was between them when he left would send the pieces of his heart scattering through the halls of Dunwall Tower. Still, he’d stayed.

Even if Corvo did not love him, he’d decided then, he had given Daud memories he would carry into the Void. He had not needed promises, or declarations of devotion. Corvo may not have wanted to call Daud his and Daud may not have been Corvo’s to want or to hold, but Corvo had been Daud’s first true choice in so long. He’d known Corvo would be gentle when he let him go.

In that moment, Daud had known what to do. And now, more than a year later — a year he had not lived, a year he’d spent adrift and alone — Corvo had given him promises, and such declarations as Daud had not dared to lay claim to. So much had changed.

Daud had wanted a better life for his people, had hoped for them to escape the pull of the Void. But then, it wasn’t the Void that had made any of them who they were. They’d accomplished that well enough themselves. And if some of his Whalers were bonded to Corvo now, they were better off for it. And the rest — they were still Daud’s. Were still his responsibility. He would take them on again, and do right by them this time.

*

Daud had a meeting with the Whalers and Curnow to get to, mapping out patrol routes for those with powers and those without; and Daud would have to warn Curnow that the number of those who had regained their abilities might soon double. Only few of those who had remained in Dunwall after Brigmore had been without powers — the reliance on Daud of those for whom the Bond had never taken had been for food, coin, and shelter, not the Void. If they’d stayed, then, it was for other reasons. On the way, however, he took a detour towards Corvo’s chambers, thinking to tell him of his decision.

He knocked and entered, finding Corvo at his desk, his pen poised over a pad, several sheets of paper spread out before him. He hadn’t looked up from his work at Daud’s entrance, no doubt recognising his steps.

“Where’d you run off to?” Corvo asked in a teasing tone. “Emily wanted to ask you something after breakfast, and she couldn’t find you.“

Daud was surprised that Emily had questions that couldn’t have been answered just as easily by Corvo — but pleased, as well. “I’ll go and find her after her lessons, see what she wanted. Did she say?” He walked around to Corvo’s side of the desk, coming to stand beside his chair.

“No,” Corvo said and completed his notes. He sat back and looked up at Daud, and Daud realised he looked… expectant.

“What is it?”

Corvo smiled, then, his eyes crinkling, and Daud had to wonder if he made himself look like a besotted fool on purpose these days. Daud looked down at him, Corvo continued staring up, until—

“Oh.” Daud nearly rolled his eyes at himself, but instead he bent down towards him. He kissed Corvo, lingering only a moment, Corvo still smiling against his lips, and when he righted himself again, he was sure his cheeks were dusted with more than the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window. “Hello,” he said quietly.

“Hello,” Corvo murmured back. “You said you had a meeting with Curnow, what are you doing with me?”

Daud hesitated for a moment, knowing that this — that saying it out loud would make it final. Once he did this, he wouldn’t allow himself to go back on it. “I made a decision regarding the Arcane Bond,” he said eventually, realising it sounded needlessly formal but not knowing how else to express himself.

Corvo turned in his chair to face him more directly, reaching for Daud’s hand — his left. Daud let him have it without a second thought, ill-prepared to consider what that might say about him. The Mark was once again hidden by a pair of brown leather gloves, but they both knew it simmered at Corvo’s touch when he stroked his thumb over the back of Daud’s hand.

“And what have you decided?“

“Those who couldn’t form the Bond with you… I’m going to offer them mine,“ Daud said after taking a deep breath and gently withdrawing his hand. “I would give them back what was taken from them, if they want it.”

“What about those bonded to me who were yours before?” Corvo asked.

Daud shook his head. “Severing the Bond is no simple thing; and it’s not clean. It was hardly my doing when I went into the Void, and I’ve only done it deliberately once.”

Corvo weighed his answer and, after a moment, nodded. “I understand.”

“Unless,” Daud added, “you’d rather be rid of—”

“No,” Corvo didn’t let him finish. “I chose to share my powers with them, and it wasn’t contingent on your return. I’ll keep them on for as long as they want it.”

Daud felt some of the tension in his gut loosen with Corvo’s decision. “Thank you.” He paused. “I do have a request, Corvo.”

“Name it.”

“I would like to give _them_ the choice. All of them. If they want to be released from your Bond, or don’t want to receive mine, they have to be able to make that decision.” Daud felt the weight of Corvo’s gaze locked with his, and the understanding in his eyes was almost too much. “Your offer may not have been contingent on my survival, but their acceptance may well have been.“

“I doubt that those who stayed will want to sever the Bond, but I agree, it should be their choice. But Daud,” he said when Daud moved to speak again, “if any of them come to me and ask to be bonded to you instead, I will grant their wish, even if it’s difficult.”

“That’s not—” Daud started. ‘Bloody likely,’ he’d been going to say, but thought better of it. Corvo was a man to take offence at the praise of his countenance at the expense of someone else’s; and Daud knew it would take more time than they had now to disabuse him of the notion.

“What about those for whom the Bond didn’t work at all? Do you want to try again, see if something has changed?“

Daud shrugged at that. “I can; casting the Bond isn’t all that taxing and there’s nothing lost if it doesn’t work. The only thing to gain is the connection — or their continued disappointment if it doesn’t take.”

“Who knows,” Corvo responded with barely restrained optimism. “The Void might have changed its mind.”

* * *

“Have you had word from Curnow?” Daud asked the next day before stealing an apple slice from Corvo’s plate.

“Not yet,” Corvo answered and rubbed his brow. “The Hatters aren’t talking, as usual, and their buyers aren’t either. Not even Brockburn, to save his own skin.”

“Well, at least he can be counted on to strong-arm his way out of an actual trial,” Daud said as he sat down. “As long as we don’t know what he was going to do with those pistols…”

Corvo looked up from his notes, then, and tilted his head at Daud, wondering.

“What?” Daud questioned, already suspicious. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” Corvo replied, not even bothering with hiding his amusement. “I just never thought I’d hear the Knife of Dunwall imply that _we_ must follow the rule of law in charging, trying, and convicting a criminal suspect.”

Daud glowered.

“It’s awfully law-abiding of you,“ Corvo delivered the final point.

“Tell Fleet, and I’ll string you up by your feet. _Without_ a trial,” Daud grumbled. “The point is,“ he continued before Corvo could, “that we need to know all we can about him and his friends, and we need to dig deeper than the Watch is going to.”

Corvo nodded. “And faster, too, we only have a few days left to hold them.” He watched as Daud sighed, and he supposed he knew what he was thinking. Would that they could just make people… disappear.

“I’ll send for Rulfio, he knows his way around a merchant’s diaries.”

“Alright.”

* * *

“Boss,” Rulfio entered Corvo’s study a few hours later, finding Daud and Corvo standing, a little oddly, in the middle of the room. Corvo looked somewhat startled whilst Daud looked cross, and it was then that it occurred to Rulfio that he had forgotten to knock, in his haste. And that he’d probably interrupted something. “Ah.” He swallowed the apology teetering on the tip of his tongue, as nothing good ever came of that when it came to Daud. He’d never expected them to apologise for a mistake — he’d expected them not to make the same mistake again. Void or no, that much wouldn’t have changed.

So Rulfio pulled himself up by his bootstraps and forged ahead. In front of him, Daud and Corvo shifted so that they were standing side by side, looking at him expectantly.

“You sent for me?”

Daud nodded. “I want you to go digging after Brockburn and his friends. Find out if there was anyone else who might know what they were up to. Search their houses, their business, anything the Watch might have missed, and bring it back.“

Rulfio nodded. “Yes, sir.“

* * *

To say that Emily was _excited_ would have been an understatement. And even as Corvo had reservations about the wisdom of the venture, he could understand why it meant so much to her. In what the man himself would never label as ‘paternal,’ Daud was standing half behind Callista, his arms crossed, as Emily endured having her collar and hair fussed over.

“At the first sign of trouble, you stick to—”

“I stick to Rinaldo and let him transverse me somewhere safe, where we wait for you or the Watch to catch up with us,” Emily finished for him, and Daud’s eyes narrowed at being interrupted.

“You don’t look up to where I am, or where the other Whalers are watching from the roofs. We can’t risk being exposed in broad daylight.” At this, Emily nodded, her expression serious, and if Corvo thought too much about how his daughter, even at thirteen, prioritised the safety of those she loved over her own, he might lose his hold on the long, long lecture he felt was just waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“Emily,” he caught her attention across the room, “I know we go over this time and time again, but these protocols are in place for a reason.”

“Yes, and the reason is you worry too much,” Emily returned, leaving Corvo to frown at an uncanny echo of times long past.

Daud seemed to feel no differently, as he tilted his head. “You know it took some convincing to get Corvo to agree to this, and you know why. Don’t pretend you don’t understand his concern.”

Emily sighed at that, and turned to Corvo. “Because you’re my father,“ she said apologetically, but her eyes moved to Daud before she’d finished speaking. “I know.”

Corvo didn’t dare say anything, waiting whether Daud would react at all and being unsure of his own. Surely Emily didn’t mean… they hadn’t even _spoken_ about telling her. Corvo felt his throat tighten at the thought that, perhaps, they didn’t have to. Meanwhile, Daud held Emily’s gaze but did not speak, and eventually the moment was broken when Callista pronounced the Empress ‘good and ready’ for her appearance in Drapers Ward.

Callista would not be joining them, as she’d expressed a dislike for the attention that it brought even when Emily was little. Many of Dunwall’s citizens were only too aware that she was a Curnow; and her uncle’s standing as Watch Captain had not made it easier for her after her parents’ death. Her father, Geoff’s brother, would have preferred for her to marry smart rather than go and find a job — even one at Dunwall Tower — or at least let her uncle take care of her. And Curnow would have done it, had offered to take her in. Incensed, she’d ceased contact even with him, before reaching out a few years after Emily was born. She’d started in the kitchens, and the head cook, after learning of her education and observing her conduct with other servants’ children and street orphans when out on the markets, had eventually recommended her as governess. Jessamine had taken the recommendation, unhappy with the frumpy nurse her council had tried to foist upon them to take care of Emily and ‘guide her’ on the path to becoming a proper lady. Jessamine had professed regret that her own governess had died of illness years before Emily’s birth. Corvo remembered her — she’d been a good and steady woman. Callista was cut from the same cloth, and he knew he had not always given her enough acknowledgement for how she’d supported and protected Emily after Jessamine’s death.

In the end, Corvo and Daud had decided that Emily would have to deal with danger all her life, and that she would be crushed if they denied her this outing. Since the threat level was at least currently no higher than on any other day in Court or Parliament, to tell the truth, they’d given the Whalers the orders to start patrolling Drapers Ward that morning. Lizzy had received word as well, and although Corvo didn’t want to imagine her reaction to whichever Whaler had passed on Daud’s message, he found himself trusting her to keep a handle on her Eels for the day.

Corvo watched as Daud spoke briefly to each Whaler joining them, watched as Emily tugged on Rinaldo’s arm and he automatically leaned down towards her to listen, then grinned at whatever she’d relayed to him. Corvo had read, in Daud’s logs, that Rinaldo had been the oldest of five children. None of his siblings had survived the fire that had taken nearly half a district near Aventa — Rinaldo hailed from Karnaca, just like Daud, just like Corvo. Rinaldo had been lucky or cursed, or both, to race across the city, seeing only smoke above the rooftops and, when he arrived, the ashes. His father and mother didn’t live with their grief for very long; and Rinaldo left Serkonos. In Dunwall, Daud found him picking pockets and running from the Watch. Fiercely loyal, Rinaldo had taken to Emily from the first like any older brother would, and Corvo counted himself lucky that he had not left when he could have; might have even wanted to. Instead, he protected Emily, guarded her, helped training her in the yard, with practice swords, or in the gardens, with sticks. He would keep her safe today.

* * *

Emily could barely contain her excitement — but worked hard to do so — as she, Corvo, and Rinaldo piled into the railcar that would take them from the Tower District to the Riverfront  and Drapers Ward. The life of a princess was sheltered, to say nothing of that of an empress. Dunwall was her city, and yet Emily knew what she did from maps and cartographers’ notes… and sewer blueprints, too. She’d helped Galia mark new river krust locations on some of the Whalers’ maps while they’d lived at the Hound Pits pub. An odd activity for any child her age, but it had served as a distraction and an education both. She could barely remember the less than a handful of times she’d been out of the Tower as a small child, usually staying behind whenever her mother and Corvo left on official business. She supposed as long as her mother had been alive, there’d always seemed enough time for everything. Enough time to get to know Dunwall and its people beyond the nobles at Court, enough time… to learn how to be Empress.

This was an education Emily would not receive from the fair Jessamine Kaldwin, first of her name. It was an education she _could not_ receive from anyone.

Following her mother’s death and facing an uncertain future, hidden in a quarantined district and warded with assassins who, at first, had seemed to seek to cage her as much as shield her, Emily had often wondered whether she should be afraid. She’d sought answers where she would not find them; in nightmares, imagining what she had not witnessed and what Corvo would not tell her. Daud had then been as afraid of her as she of him, and she hadn’t understood _why_ until one morning he’d come back from sparring with Corvo — bleeding, from a split lip and a cut above his eye, but he hadn’t been angry. He’d just looked tired.

She’d watched as her father struggled, watched as Daud paid toll after toll to hold everything together. She’d watched them become allies, then friends, then nigh inseparable, and now, even though they’d never said, she knew as surely as the Wrenhaven tide that they loved each other. Corvo had mourned Daud’s disappearance as he had her mother’s death, suffering worse only for the absence of Daud’s own strength, and Daud looked at him now the way the wolves in Emily’s stories watched the moon rise in the night sky.

Emily felt the burden of the crown even as she was aided in her duties by those around her, and she knew it would only grow as she did. Sometimes, she feared she would forget; and then the next moment she would like nothing better. There were no more answers. The men who’d murdered her mother were gone, the witch Delilah banished and Daud returned from the Void. Even as she feared the future for all that it might hold, she knew the price it might extract from her and those she loved. Just for that, she’d meet it head on.

The railcar took them into Drapers Ward quickly, and Emily peered out the windows to try and spot Daud and the Whalers as they followed, running and jumping across the rooftops. ‘Blinking,’ they called it now; Emily had overheard them whisper to each other. They’d called it something else before, but she couldn’t quite remember. Watching intently, Emily squealed when she saw Daud leap off the roof of one house, only to vanish abruptly and then reappear on the next building’s balcony. As he ran, he turned to look down at the carriage, but at this distance, she couldn’t judge his expression. Having gained momentum, he vaulted the balcony stone railing straight into nothing, and a second later heaved himself up a ledge a yard away. Emily grinned. She wanted to be able to do that, too, someday. Only, best not to tell Corvo. Or Daud, for that matter. They’d only try to talk her out of it. Emily found it noteworthy that Daud had never seemed to employ that sort of parenting with his Whalers; but if she asked, she knew he’d tell her ‘that was different.’ Adults used it all the time to defend not taking their own advice; and Emily was sick of it when they used it to tell her no. Because she was her mother’s daughter. Because she was Empress. Because she had to learn sums, and history, and geography. Boring, boring, boring, Seven Strictures.

Corvo and Daud, of course, told her no because they loved her — not that that was ever Daud’s express reason, Corvo was far ahead of him when it came to making Emily feel bad for making him worry. But she knew.

Emily was aware of the attention their arrival garnered almost immediately. Daud had grumbled over the imperial seal emblazoned on the side of the carriage, but it was a matter of status as well as safety. _If_ anything were to happen, the Watch would know immediately which car to defend.

Now, it served for all citizens present in Drapers Ward to crane their necks and whisper behind their hands; or, for those closest to the carriage, to make themselves look important. Rinaldo and Corvo exited the carriage first, then Corvo turned and offered her his hand. Accepting it, she stepped down, then just took a moment to take a look around. Drapers Ward had fallen into disrepair during the Plague, with the Hatters and the rats to blame for most of it, and in the year and a half since Hypatia, Piero, and Sokolov had perfected the Cure, the rebuilding of the Riverfront District had come along slowly. In the past few months, however, great strides had been made, and every week saw the reopening of shops and businesses. New (and old, but re-polished) marquee signs were gleaming in the sunlight — the same sun that also bounced off the surface of the water once more filling Millenary Canal.

Residents and shoppers alike seemed too surprised at her presence to make a spectacle of it just yet — people bowed, some even nodded at Corvo and murmured , “Lord Protector” — but none had yet approached her to try and engage her in conversation. It was all the same to her: she’d come to see how Drapers Ward was faring, pleased at the suggestion Daud had made to Corvo, but most of all she wanted a taste of something that wasn’t the Tower library, the throne room, or the royal gardens. Here, she could taste the canal, traces of engine grease from the river front, and the heavy musk of cloth from the mill. Perfumed nobles were a coin a dozen at the palace, but they were almost indistinguishable here. She nodded politely at Lady Helmswater, one of her advisors, who seemed caught between bafflement and disapproval and had therefore settled on carrying no expression at all.

Emily knew she had instructions not to lift her eyes to the roofs, and she didn’t, but while it was a comfort to know that Daud and the Whalers were watching from above, she wished she could seek them out and wave, share her pleasure at being here with them in some small way. She wished, too, that she might hold Corvo’s hand, pull him this way and that to look at shop windows or the barrels of finely-woven fabric crowding the sidewalk. Emily’s eyes snagged on a notice board used to put up notices and announcements — or, if needed, wanted posters, but there were none today. But Emily still recognised the outer edges of the Dead Eels’ mark underneath, painted onto the wood: three eels impaled on the blade of a sword with an intricate hilt. She smiled to herself. One day, she would meet Lizzy Stride, she promised herself, and ask her everything the woman might care to tell her about sailing the ocean.

They came by a haberdasher shop, opened just that day, and upon spying a young girl who seemed about her age, Emily did reach for Corvo — at the last moment, she reminded herself not to tug at his sleeve like a child, but to lay a hand on his arm and, by inclining her head towards the shop _just so_ , that she wished to enter. Above them, the Whalers would have clocked the movement, and converge on the building itself and the one across the canal, while two or more remained at their posts a few roofs down in either direction to observe the crowds. Corvo nodded, motioning for Rinaldo to take up position at the door. The door was already open, so Corvo let Emily proceed inside, then followed at her heel, his eyes already taking in the entirety of the room. It was second nature to him, Emily knew, and she tried to do the same, taking note of the exits and hiding places.

“Oh!” the girl exclaimed, a little taller than Emily, with bright red hair and freckles. “Hello!” The girl did not bow, did not curtsy, she simply stuck out her hand for Emily to shake, smiling at her cheerfully. “My name’s Alexi!” She spoke with an accent that reminded Emily of some of the workers who’d built her apartments at the Tower; they’d come from Potterstead.

Emily stared for a moment before grinning back and taking Alexi’s hand. No-one had ever simply shaken her hand before, and it occurred to Emily that Alexi might simply not know who she was — that had never happened before, either. Emily greatly enjoyed the feeling. Anyone she’d ever met had known her name, her birth date, her status and her future; every single one of them had had the advantage over her, in introduction as well as expectation. Expectations she’d never asked for would was now compelled to meet. Alexi, then, had only one: to be given a name.

“My name is Emily,” she introduced herself, shaking the other girl’s hand firmly, the way she’d seen Corvo do. Alexi beamed.

“It’s so lucky you’re coming ‘round today, we just opened,” she explained and, surprising Emily even further, held out her hand to Corvo as well. “Hullo, sir.”

Corvo, too, seemed perplexed, but then took Alexi’s hand in greeting. “Corvo,” he introduced himself. “Are you planning on greeting every customer personally?” he asked without even the hint of a smile, and if they’d been at the Tower, Emily would have scolded him for teasing.

Alexi seemed to see through him well enough, as she returned, “Just the nice ones, sir. There was a lady in here before who sneered at the ribbons, I wouldn’t have shaken her hand for a coin.”

Emily did not hold in her laughter at that, and Corvo allowed himself a smile, which was rare enough outside his private quarters, let alone the Tower walls.

“Alexi, where are you—oh!” A woman who looked just like Alexi entered the front of the shop through a door at the back. “Alexi, I told you to call for me when we have customers—oh my word,” she interrupted herself, a hand coming up to her chest. She stepped out from behind the counter, giving a bow, tapping Alexi’s elbow with her hand to get her to do the same.

Frowning in confusion, Alexi did so, but quickly raised her head to cast a wide-eyed glance at Emily.

“Your Highness,” Alexi’s mother said with as much as poise as she could muster, being caught off guard by none but royalty, “Lord Protector, it’s an honour. My name is Pauline Mayhew, I own this shop together with my husband, Gideon. We moved to Dunwall just a few weeks ago.”

“Welcome to Dunwall,“ Emily said before Corvo had to nudge her. “I hope that your business will thrive and help rebuild the city.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Alexi eye her a little curiously, as if wary of her sudden formality. “Now,” she continued, “would it be alright if your daughter showed me around?”

Alexi brightened at that, and Mrs Mayhew nodded eagerly. “Yes, of course. We carry only the finest ribbons. Your Majesty.“

“I don’t doubt it.” Then, with a grin, Emily turned to Alexi. “Ribbons?”

“Ribbons!”

*

The girls were off like a shot, with the Mayhew girl showing Emily the shelves and drawers filled with buttons, sewing kits, needles, and, indeed, ribbons.

“I do beg your pardon, Alexi did not mean any disrespect,” Mrs Mayhew began, but Corvo shook his head.

“There’s no need to apologise; your daughter was perfectly courteous,” he aimed to put her at ease.

“Still, to find _royalty_ in our shop on opening day. Oh my,” Mrs Mayhew looked over Corvo’s shoulder at that, and paled a little. Corvo cast a covert glance and saw that a small crowd had gathered outside the shop, deterred from entering only by Rinaldo standing guard and the door Corvo had closed behind himself, but certainly not by their own curiosity.

Corvo smiled at her. “I doubt you’ll be short of patrons today, ma’am.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t suppose we will.“

* * *

Corvo and Rinaldo accompanied Emily on a tour of most of Drapers Ward for the rest of the morning, after leaving the Mayhews’ haberdasher shop; and while Corvo could never quite _relax_ , he felt the pressure on his chest slowly lessen. If he wanted to protect Emily, he needed to be on alert at all times, especially whenever people outside their immediate circle might have access to her, but he was only of use to her if he could actually _breathe_. Corvo sometimes cast surreptitious glances up towards the roofs, catching a glimpse of a black leather coat and fragments of the Void. Daud might not be able to walk with them, but he was always there, just at the edges of Corvo’s awareness, watchful and protecting. Corvo felt safer for it.

Eventually, it was time for them to head back, and on the way back to the Tower, Emily chatted happily away about the things she’d seen and enjoyed and the people they’d met — but, of course, especially Alexi.

“Oh, can I see her again? Please, please, Corvo? I promised her if I could, I’d show her more of the city,” Emily cried, holding on to his hands, Rinaldo trying to hide his smirk (and failing badly) beside her.

Corvo sighed. “Perhaps we can work something out, _if_ her parents agree,” he tried to temper her enthusiasm, but of course he knew it was a lost cause. And hadn’t he and Daud talked about carriage rides? Perhaps they _could_ work something out.

* * *

But first, Corvo and Daud were approached by Hypatia. She’d joined them in Corvo’s quarters after their return from Drapers Ward, asking to speak to them both and, later, to Emily as well.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she said, seeming somewhat… distressed. Or nervous, perhaps.

“Our—the door is always open for you,“ Corvo told her and only caught himself after it was too late; but he didn’t have time to start thinking frantically about whether now was the time to advertise that he thought of his quarters as his _and Daud’s_. Or about whether Hypatia had noticed. Whether _Daud_ had noticed, who was currently standing in his now customary spot at Corvo’s right side. The same spot Corvo had always chosen whenever Jessamine… Corvo abandoned the thought. Now was not the time to lose himself in echoes of the past.

Hypatia showed no sign of marking his words, but Corvo could not say whether she was being graceful or distracted.

“Thank you, Corvo. I wanted to speak to you and Daud first, and then to Emily; and I have already discussed this with Anton and Piero,” Hypatia began, seeming to feel more certain in her words now. “I graduated from the Academy two years ago, and much of the time since has been spent here at the Tower or in Anton’s lab, working on the Cure. We have delivered it; and I have continued to work on my own formula here. You know I’m working on a serum to alleviate the symptoms of lung disease common among the miners in Karnaca.”

Corvo nodded. “I do.”

“I wish to continue that work, but it would be more effective and efficient for me to do so in Serkonos.”

“You wish to return,” Daud suggested.

“Yes. My time in Dunwall has given me so much that is worthwhile remembering; my education, of course, but not least among my memories counts my time here with you and Emily. But it is time for me to return to Karnaca, to truly help those in need. I was so fortunate to be able to contribute to finding a cure for the Plague, now I wish to set my mind to different but equally worthwhile pursuits. Bloodfly disease is a plague of its own, even if better contained for the moment.”

“If anyone can find a cure for that as well, it’s you, Alexandria,” Corvo told her earnestly. He believed in her without question, and he knew Emily did, too. “Emily will miss you, but she’ll understand,” he added, “if that is why you came to us first.“

Hypatia smiled gratefully, but then looked down at her hands. “Part of it, yes. I don’t wish to disappoint her by leaving, I have greatly enjoyed helping her with her studies and conducting experiments together. But the other reason is… I would seek to ask a favour. Of you, and of her.”

“Name it,” Corvo said, exchanging a quick glance with Daud, who seemed to contain some surprise.

“You know the Addermire Institute, just off the coast of Karnaca?”

“Yes, of course.“ Corvo had never been, not even in his position as Royal Protector. The old Addermire Institute was a retreat — a sanatorium and solarium, rather — for the rich and noble.

“I would wish to… reform it, into a medical treatment and research facility. To give everyone access to the therapy they need, be it for lung disease, bloodfly fever, or ordinary ailments of which there are enough in any city in the Empire.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, but… how can we help?”

“Addermire is currently owned privately, and I do not have the funds to buy it and remake it into what I believe it can be. But if I could speak to the Duke, I believe I could win his support. I know Lucia Pastor of the Mining Family Committee, and Aramis Stilton, who owns one of the largest mines above the Batista District, and I think they would be supportive of the venture.”

“Theodanis mentioned Stilton favourably.“ Indeed, Corvo remembered that Theodanis seemed to hold him in very high regard; albeit of what description Corvo had not wanted to pry out of him. It was enough that Theodanis trusted him with the matter and manner of their acquaintance, and if there was some fondness in his gaze that Corvo recognised well enough from a look in his own mirror, there was no need to mention it. Theodanis had lost his wife to tragic circumstances, so to see him content and denying loneliness to rule his days was something Corvo understood — and valued — all the better now for the months and years that had passed since he’d last seen him.

“If perhaps the Crown could… express its favour,” Hypatia said, her eyes hopeful. “It might bring the matter to the Duke’s attention.”

“You mean a letter of recommendation,“ Daud commented, not unkindly.

“If you will.”

Without thinking, Corvo turned his head to look up at Daud, finding him already looking down at him. Daud tilted his head, just a little, drawing up a brow. Corvo answered with a nod of his own.

“We’ll speak to Emily, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to write to Theodanis. She enjoys his correspondence, which is rare enough,” he added, remembering that one of the first letters Emily had received upon her return to the Tower had been from the Duke, expressing his condolences and his well wishes; a continuation of the respectful and regular exchange he had kept with Jessamine. And as much as Corvo knew that Daud would balk at the thought, Corvo _was_ grateful to Theodanis for sending him to Gristol. Corvo had been one of the best swordsmen in the Isles, and the Duke could have easily kept him to himself. Instead, he’d sent him to Dunwall — Corvo had no notion of whether Theodanis might have anticipated that he would be chosen as Protector, but he supposed it might have been his hope, if nothing else. If so, he had sent him away to protect the heir to the imperial throne rather than his own, and that, Corvo knew, took more than kindness.

“Thank you,” Hypatia said, relief making her smile. “It means the world to me, Corvo, truly.”

“We’re lucky to have had you with us,” Corvo told her, and meant it. “Your work made the Cure possible; and not only that, but you kept Piero and Sokolov from blowing each other up.” Hypatia laughed at that and, at his side, Daud let out a small, pained grunt. “I can only hope that their next apprentice will be half as capable as you.”

Hypatia weighed her head, still smiling. “I believe the best chances are owed to Toksvig. She’s smart and determined, and an excellent physician. I can easily see her succeeding Sokolov in his position here at the Tower.”

“Have you made the suggestion?”

“No, the subject of my replacement hasn’t come up yet.”

“Then you should. Tell them she’s your candidate, and if they agree, we can approach her. Perhaps you could introduce her to Emily, see how they get along.”

“I’d be happy to.”

“Thank you. Should we talk to Emily about this in the next few days?”

“Of course, let me know when there’s an opening in her schedule. And yours, for that matter.”

“I will.”

“Good. And now I will get out of your hair,” Hypatia said decisively and stood; Corvo did as well, to accompany her to the door. “I’ve kept you long enough. Thank you again, both of you.”

“Anytime.” Corvo closed the door behind her. Daud crossed the room and made for the settee; an unspoken invitation for Corvo to join him. And Corvo would, but… his eyes went to his desk. He walked over, drawing out a folder from under the growing pile accumulating in a tray.

Daud regarded him for a moment.

“What is it?“

Corvo hesitated, the file in his hands. He knew it was time. He’d known this day would come, but with all the time he’d had to prepare for it, nothing could avert the sting of it. The worry. And wasn’t that indictment enough? Of course, Corvo cared about the safety and the welfare of his agents — they were his responsibility. And he’d come to care especially for the Whalers. But he still sent them out without hesitation, if it was deemed _prudent_. The rules were the same for them as they were for him: any mission, any target could be their last. They’d all chosen this.

Daud had chosen this.

“I have an assignment for you.” The point of no return had passed.

Daud sat up straighter. “Where?”

“Morley,” Corvo said, coming to join Daud on the settee.

“Insurgents?” Daud guessed. “Smugglers?”

“Worse,” Corvo allowed himself the opportunity to wind him up a little. “Aristocrats.”

Daud drew a brow. “Who’s the target?”

Corvo finally handed him the file. “Lord Kennington. Their family have been stirring the pot against the Kaldwin family’s rule for a while, certainly since Emily’s coronation.” Corvo knew that this wasn’t all that Daud wanted to do — he loved Emily, and Corvo knew he would give everything for her, just as Corvo himself would. He already _had_. But Daud was not to be the Crown’s fixer, or its attack dog. He would gladly fashion himself into a weapon if Emily’s safety demanded it, but Corvo knew Daud had not come back to have his choices taken away from him. Again. “But that’s not why I’m sending you. The Crown’s opponents will have to be met in Court, not in back alleys with a blade.”

Corvo wondered if Daud would kill for them. For her. For him. He thought, if he asked, he might. He had vowed long ago never to ask.

“So why are you sending me?”

“They have connections into Tyvia, connections that we need.”

“To find out what happened to your missing agent.“

“Yes.”

Daud leafed through the file quickly, efficiently. It wasn’t a very thick dossier — yet. “When do I leave?”

“That’s up to you. You plan the journey, and the approach. Do it your way, and tell me when you’re ready.”

Daud considered his answer. “Infiltration takes time.” He paused, thinking. “And if they have bridges into Tyvia, they’ll have them into Gristol as well. Two weeks. Give me two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” Corvo nodded his assent. Once again, a hourglass had been set on their time together; but nothing like the first. Daud would return to him, Corvo knew this. _You’re my home_. He knew, too, that he couldn’t watch him leave without giving him what belonged to him. Something that would mark _his_ belonging. He remembered what Daud had said only weeks ago — seemingly without realising it; about the dread of Emily growing up to be a troublemaker. Corvo hadn’t had the wits to question him, had kissed him instead and hoped it _was_ the promise of a future beyond this year or the next. Beyond their own years. If Daud truly saw himself as one of those who would try to keep the Empress out of too much trouble… then perhaps he could see himself caring for her Protector, too.

 _Leap of faith_ , he reminded himself.

“Hold on.“

Corvo got up and went over to his desk, reaching underneath the bottom drawer to release the hidden compartment. He quickly found what he needed. Clearing his throat, he returned to Daud.

“Give me your hand,” he requested after he’d sat back down.

Daud reached out without hesitation, but the question he didn’t need to ask was in his eyes.

Corvo cradled the back of Daud’s hand in his fingers. He drew another deep breath, then dropped what he had hidden in his other fist onto Daud’s broad palm. He watched as Daud’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“The signet,” Daud said, tone carefully blank, but his voice was rough and Corvo _knew_. “It would be unwise,“ Daud reminded him of his own words. But he had not withdrawn his hand.

“We want you to have it,” Corvo told him gently.

Daud’s eyes dropped to their hands, joined.

“It’s a key.”

Corvo brushed his thumb over Daud’s wrist.

“It’s a ring,” he said, feeling his heart in his throat.

For a long moment, Daud didn’t speak. Then, he curled his fingers around the ring, holding it tightly. Raising his eyes to Corvo’s, he held his gaze.

“Alright.“

Smiling, Corvo leaned in to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) Daud. Daud, baby.  
> b) Corvooooooooooo.  
> c) Emily is such a great character to write, not least because she's FUN; but most of all because she's so ambivalent. She wants to be a good and proper Empress, but she's never unaware of being treated like a child; and she wishes for the childhood she remembers even as she hates _acting like a child_. She flip-flops between these things within minutes sometimes, and it makes her so much more... interesting.  
>  AND I COULD FINALLY INTRODUCE ALEXI!!  
> d) Our babies are engaaaaaaaaaaged. Smooches to everyone who clocked that something was up with that signet ring (sufferingsappho, I'm lookin' at you).  
> e) Never Let Me Go for Daud KILLS me. "But I'm not giving up,/ I'm just... giving in." JUST BURY ME.  
> f) ingupingu also gave us wonderful art for Chapter 8: [Emily and Daud after Daud wakes up](https://biffdyr.tumblr.com/post/171772777403/emily-and-daud). thank you so much again <3 <3 <3


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